Here I sit on my plush latex king-size bed and long for my thin blue mattress on the rich red earth.
Walking through the feminine arch of the Gorge at Windjana. Hearing stories from the land and sharing stories of those I sat sacredly in circle with . It was a bubble it would seem now. The waking to early birdsong and an orchestra of zipping tents, falling asleep to the not so gentle snores as I gazed up at the stars.
Shooting stars like meteors. Mars shining brightly orange in the far skies. The floating, yellow-orange eyes of the night time crocodiles as we would our trail out of the gorge at dark.
The smooth, shiny green frogs who took up residence in the toilet bowl. The heat, the searing heat. The gorge bringing delicious respite. My feelings of angst as I struggled between intruding on the land. To the honour and horror of learning their story. The story of the people from the land.
The writing, telling and hearing of my own stories from deep within still echo in me. Residual snippets still floating about me. Perhaps wanting or needing more work. A deeper look, a closing comment.
How to be in this world now with pockets filled with that world, that experience, that me..