It's been a week since work finished, a time to celebrate and share, relax and unwind. The coffee consumption has slowed, naps occur frequently and the sun's rays kiss the skin more often. Worimi country lights up, translucent water illuminating dolphins and ancient trade routes, the nearby beach sparkling and glistening in the sun.
In a world subject to changing fast and trying to keep ahead, gentle giants and a few old maps question the revolutionising change. Amidst the rush, a wave of slowing paces the hallow hallways, screaming for a recognition of the past. Often unnoticed, it is still here. Always was. Always will be.
The image of youth being nudged to dance on the Opera House steps makes me ponder our future. As a didge hums, clapsticks form a heartbeat and a young painted man sings the words of eternity. Forever, in one place, our ways and traditions captured for a time beyond now. And despite the many countries across this land that are represented, in this ring we are one.
Amidst the early morning Gloucester fog, a cows head emerged near the roadside. Sitting patient in the field, the car noise seldom worried him. Ettamogah, a placid braford bull was the joy of my early drive to Sydney, signifying time and in many ways life. Somehow, he was at the right place at the right time, just like each of us.
Despite clocks moving forward, the second hand has made its way around a little slower than normal. Nights have shortened to the early morning only as the rooster continues to early morning crow. Locked into phone call schedules and guided by the constant buzz, this week has been driven by interruption.
Tattooed deeply in my skin, crossing my heart, are three symbols, running boldly across my chest adjoining my mob name. Each mark is representative of the braford breeders before me, my Parents, Grandparents and Great Grandparents, those that fought and strived for the joy of a new calf. Each mark representative of where I have come from, who I'm accountable to and my passion.