Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Ever since.

Ever since she was a child she had liked to make things. 

Creating her evolving thoughts onto the canvas of the earths surface. A garden, a drawing, a game, a life, a child, a gift. A story.

She stands now, as a grown woman in the open paddock. She turns back to look over what she has created. Behind her the mountain range sits silent and stoic, settled in it's own ancient place, right along side her almost forty year old heart. 

The mountain - that gave her binding breath.

She looks over the woven pile of sticks, interlocking and supporting each other. Just like life she thinks, noticing how some sticks are slipping through.

Closing her eyes she sees her babies faces, freshly born, and her husbands loving tears. She sees the daughters, beautiful and older, with their heads turned in the direction of their own futures, creating their own unique pathways. Her own parents faces are etched in her vision, just as the outline of the mountains are. She sees the trails of connections in each line of her face that have grown with her. Each path leading to the next event, the next story. Endless webs of interaction.

She looks down at her feet now, dusty and dirty with the fine sandy silt. Encased in sandals and no longer as tough as in the days when she could fly. They have the slight aches and pains of years of exposure to the earths elements. The cracks  and worn surface replicating the journeys they have taken.

The once baby soft souls of her feet have connected her to all roads traveled. Along the bush animal trails of her childhood to the endless city concrete. To some of the highest peaks with the coldest winds, to the edges of opal coloured oceans. Along the painful twisty paths of trauma and heartache. Where paths turn back in on them selves and loop around you, until you find that tiny stream of light, that may only lead you to another junction shaped track, where once again you hesitate about choice and direction. But taking that step makes you less afraid than returning and vainly trying to cover your tracks. As the path backwards always leads to regret and sorrow. 

She has built this thing now. A thing to burn. A fire to lead to the next journey. A passage of flames that will burn those sticks to the earth. With many steps yet to be taken and many directions yet to be made, those feet will carry her through.

Turning back to the mountain, she still wonders - what does it all mean.

My boys have just trekked four days on the Milford track in New Zealand. Today I wait to hear from them. It's agonizing. But I trust in their bodies and strength. The magic and beauty they would of seen will be life changing. I love them and miss them.


  1. Floating thoughts flitting forth over forty years around the sun. Creation and recreation. Lovely to know you daughter!

  2. we love and miss you to. But if we do not go we will never grow.

  3. However, you are doing ought to be aware of whatever you will need if you want for that course for being effective for you.

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