“Something told the wild geese It was time to fly.” Write a piece of flash fiction of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line in the order in which it has been given. You may add or change punctuation, but you may not add words in between the given ones.
I haven’t down a Prosery challenge on d’Verse before. I hope I got the rules right in this piece:-
The days grow shorter here in southern Australia. Today the sun had already set as I was coming home. The air was cool and the autumnal twilight stretching across the land was as mystic as a poet’s dream. On a whim I took the longer route down country roads rather than hurtling down the highway with all the commuters. Twice on my journey I saw long lines of ibis flying in a vee formation. Glancing up at them as I drove they took on the appearance of punctuation marks scrawled across the soft grey sky while beneath them the land drifted off and dissolved into mists of deepening shadows. An American poet once wrote something told the wild geese to fly at the turning point of the year. Seems the same voice speaks to birds here in this wide southern land as winter approaches.
I have been reading about the work of Deborah Bird Rose, an American anthropologist who spent many years over here in Australia learning about aboriginal traditions. The last book she wrote before her death in 2018 is titled ‘Shimmering: Flying Fox Exuberance in Worlds of Peril. In it she explores the aboriginal concept of shimmering – a way of seeing the world that recognizes the dynamic interconnection of all life.
At the beach the early morning shimmers across the sea. Transfixed by the light I breathe in the beauty. The park bench becomes a Torrii gate.*
Awareness expands. shimmering in unity I am one with life.
*A torii gate is a significant symbol in Japanese culture, representing a spiritual and physical boundary between the sacred and secular worlds. https://whysojapan.com/what-is-torii-gate/
I watched the TV News last night. Later my sleeping was disturbed with tangled dreams and long periods of time when I lay awake grieving for the world.
This morning I took a wrong turn when looking for a place in the city. Turning my car around I found myself beside an old cemetry. I’ve been to this place a couple of times before and found it to be oddly comforting. On the spur of the moment I decided to take a walk there this morning. I set off with the intention to find a section of very old graves and yew trees. Somehow I took another wrong turn and found myself in a wide laneway of graves clustered beneath peppercorn trees.
The first headstone I saw in this section was blank – the name erased by time perhaps.
On the other side of this tree I came to a grave with the word ‘Sacred’ carved into the headstone. At that moment the word summed up the feelings that came over me as I walked through the graveyard.
I passed many graves of people who had died in wars, the graves of children who had died too young and the graves of those who had lived well into their nineties.
Some of the older graves appeared to be becoming one with the peppercorn trees.
All in all, it was a strange way to pass time this morning but by the time I got back to my car I felt a deep, solemn peace that is hard to put into words. Perhaps you can feel something of it when you look at my photos.
Yesterday I went to the You Yangs with some family members. The You Yangs are the blue hills across the bay which feature in many of my photos. The traditional owners of this country are the Waddarung aboriginal people and the name “You Yang” comes from the Waddarung words Wurdi Youang or Ude Youang which mean “big mountain in the middle of a plain”.
Loaded up with cameras, art supplies and food we set off with my daughter drivingand two boys full of excitment in the back seat of her big vehicle. The older one was prepared for any eventuality and had a backpack full of survival gear including a wooden dagger and some string to make a bow if he needed to get a fire going in an emergency. The younger one who aspires to be an artist when he grows up clutched a sketch book and a freshly sharpened pencil.
Our route took us through a grimy busy city and on through the industrialized suburbs on the outskirts. Once we left the ever expanding housing estates behind it was a short trip up into the hills. Turning into the park we were all silenced by the power of ancient writhing trees and huge granite boulders towering up around the narrow bush tracks.
There were a lot people everywhere as it’s school holidays. We drove around for a while looking for a picnic spot. The heavy rain of the past week had wreaked havoc on the dirt roads and I was really glad we were in my daughter’s big car. My little hatchback wouldn’t have been up to the task.
We finally found a picnic spot that was relatively quiet. There were signs that big bushfire had been through there many years ago. We were surrounded by trees with blackened trunks that had survived the fires and other hollowed dead ones that towered like sentinels.
Wandering around with my camera I was struck with the relationship between the grey gnarled trees and the grey granite boulders.
There is a solemnity to this country and an inspirited quality that speaks of endurance and resilience. There is an ancient feel to the place that is stronger than the impact of the roads, walking trails, biking tracks and rubbish left behind by ignorant people. People have walked this land for eons. The aboriginal presence is strong and the trees feel like embodied spirits.
Later in the day we drove a one way road that took us over the ridgetops and around the far eastern flank of the hills.
The road was in a very bad state so once we were down on the flat my daughter pulled over beside a little water hole. Not many people come this far into the park so we had the place to ourselves.
None of us were in any hurry to head back through that busy city so we got out the art supplies and attempted to draw the world around us. The results were highly variable but we had a lot of fun until the late afternoon chill crept into our bones and it was time to head home.
Back to the mundane after time in wild country the heart feels lighter.
I’ve been sorting through photos I’ve taken over the past few years. It wasn’t until I did this that I realised I have taken a number of photos that go some way towards expressing something of the essence of the area I now live in.
All too often, these past few years, I’ve been either caught up in the drama of these times or stuck in some kind of weird limbo state where the sky is grey, the roads are grey, the buildings are grey and life is generally humdrum.
Underneath this odd mix of stress and boredom I sometimes sense something else. Some deeper pulse. Some essence – perhaps even a spirit of place. The words that describe this are elusive – dreamy or perhaps dreaming yes – but it’s not always a pleasant dream – there’s a sense of mystery that speaks of something greater than or other than human endeavours.
I’d love to know what words come to your mind when you look at the photos. Maybe we can collectively come to some words that describe this elusive energy.
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I’ll keep going with this project and post more photos as I find them in my archives.
Wayfaring 