Another piece of the jigsaw settled today, finding its place rightly in the Worimi Collective for future protection. This approach seems odd in a way, fighting for the small bits from ancient times. But along the initiation path, beneath the mighty Buccan Buccan, it’s back. All the pieces lay dormant along the landscape, but slowly they return to re-establish the long term hope.
Back in Boorowa, this week started chasing drovers from out west with sheep switching homes. Cattle roaming from far away camped carefully in reserves, awoken by the sheep cartage. After a few trips with Nan, we had them done and returned home for a nap and to turn a few pages. I’ve been reading predominantly about soil this week, with a focus on regenerative agriculture. All while dreaming for the future.
On Sunday, we travelled to the Murringo markets, overlooking a memory and legacy left. The new trailer reflects on the moments shared and lessons learnt, while the chainsaws hummed in my mind broken by a quick wit. By now he’s probably calmed the laughter of my attempts and realised the legacy lives on. It’s what he wanted, not greed.
Then it was back to Gloucester, back home. Back to where the horses roam nearby land and the new chooks have started laying.
Back where the roses grow.
And the dogs calm the stress.
At home I feel the connection, as the air wraps and guides me forward. Where freedom of thought matches hope, unimpeded by the rush of the city and the uncertainty over dollars. Where a bird sings to the caves upon which my ancestors laid roots, and where the water washes the stains of the past. Home, and now another jigsaw piece added.