Upon this land is where I awoke, born after a history of strategic decisions based on hope and opportunity. Despite denying the past, society shifted, the streets continued to bustle and visitors made their way in vehicles rather than horse. But alas time and the invention of modern luxuries doesn’t erase the past, nor the pain of the soils and souls. It still shapes the land, upon land I know.
As the grass dances under a rain filled sky, the dance floor soaks the rejoiced tears. In search of hope, things don’t get much better than a visit from rained skies. And within the ancient bora ground the steam sings a Katthang song. A reprieve, but not over.
As this new hope pleased solemn faces, ancient foods joined the growing backyard. Foods that captured old spirit, destined for revival. But by whose hands…
Meanwhile cups of tea and heritage challenged screen stereotypes of motor racing. Despite my Grandfather working for Holden for over 50 years, there’s that little reminder that my people don’t belong to that industry. Yet.
It wasn’t long before my mind turned back to books and mindset, exploring more in the spiraling thought process that swirls the brain. It was at 9 or 10 that I first learnt to explore the brain’s parts through accident. While I can’t quite recall the components, the broken and flourishing parts, I know there’s more there. More within me longing.
The clydesdales have made themselves at home in Gloucester too. While reading the landscape quickly, there’s something also intuitive, through eyes of the cautious and curious. It’s that connection that I ponder late at night- whether it’s akin to the minds of those old people. Those that read the land like a book and wrote biographically for future reminder.
Upon land I know, spirits fly, reminding me of the quest. Within the heart beat of the land, it seeks more, calling for better. And with that I remind myself of the path, course correct and challenge myself. Upon this land I know.