Lost.

As I sit and stare out the Cathedral windows, in which no doubt you must have done a hundred or so years before, my splintering week must feel trivial to your time here. Cramped, two to a bed, used as a slave, in some sort of emerging nation, very different to the struggles I am presently feeling. Yet here we are, sharing grief and respect in the stagnant halls.

Saltwater Freshwater

This week I feel it's only apt to entitle this blog after our celebration of culture, a moment to pause, reflect and dream. Along the jetty at Coffs, overlooking the white peaked ocean, I find it hard to reconcile the landscape. At one end, American inspired piers path boardwalk style stardom over our ancient coast, while the other blasts of my culture, promising a new wave of solid foundations for the future.

Boorowa Basics

Rams roam in the front paddock along a tree lined driveway, connecting the Kenyu Road to the old farm homestead. Time trapped, stagnant, the old promising home seems a mere ruin to the naked eye. Yet in my heart, I know it promises much more.

Teach Me.

The sun awakened to the waves crashing, calling for the beach and nearby dolphins to bathe in Worimi beauty. Nearby, a child's laughter warms the day, as pelicans play for attention and a feed. Saltwater, saltwater people, owned by this glorious county.

Simple living

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.

Inevitable.

Inevitable. This is the word I've been reflecting on this week as time slows, then jerks closer, forward. All in time they say, or all in a days work. But surely, one day, it will come.

Always was.

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.

Following in footsteps

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.

A thirst for knowledge

After a quick yarn to the owners of the new hardware in town, I left the workshop where my Grandfather worked for 50 years, with photocopied picture in tow. I can't recall ever seeing it before, somehow hidden or forgotten in an old album, but there's something about it that makes me light up. With it, old facades embracing early model Holdens, a testament to the changing times. 

Our eyes to look, ears to listen

Early morning fog lifted as the pressure from a lone garden hose released to the sight of purple horse shampoo. Touching up the soft, flowing feathers from just a few hours the night before, it was then onto the float and back inland for the Dungog Show. It was the first horse show since May, but Izz took it in her stride and reintroduced herself to the ring.

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