Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road.
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
— Walt Whitman
It’s a bit over an hour when I reach the creek. It’s running fast from recent rain. I am alone and the empty space fills my soul. I have carried dry wood and a billy can to boil water for coffee. I hear the water rushing past and there is bird song.
The wildlife on my walk were quite shy. I barely caught a glimpse of bounding kangaroo. There are no other people and this is what I like the most. I am a novice here but that is okay, I find my way.
The sun is still the morning one. It warms my back and casts a shadow on my page when I sit at the water’s edge to write. The track continues in the dry season, but today it ends at the overfull creek and I am not unhappy to have to stop here.
The pack feels good on my back and my boots familiar. I hold two walking poles in my hands. My feet aren’t as sure as they once were. It’s been too long off the track.
I take a stick to poke the fire that I have set at the creek’s edge. I imagine the smoke cleansing me and recall the Aboriginal. This is peace. This is contentment. This is nothing, and it is everything. This is something I can cultivate and invest in.
The stones around me, next to the creek’s edge, are innumerable — each a different shape, size, texture and colour. I think to take one away to hold on to my experience. How were I to choose one when on this day I fancy this one, and on another day I am drawn to the next? Better I admire them all today and do not collect one. It is the experience, not the obtaining of the thing.
I have made a circle of rocks for my small fire. That satisfies me more than anything I might do during a workaday week. It is a picture. I choose a seat in the sun on the ground. The temperature is mild, and the wind is still, so I can barely feel the air on my skin. There is no breeze and I do not wish one. Everything is as it should be.
There is something in me that makes me want to jump into the flowing creek. But I know that I will not. Yet I am happy that the want is in me. I smile at my primordial.
Then there is a breeze and I realise the tips of my hair are wet with sweat on the back of my neck. I have used my body and it is glad, and I am grateful for it.
The colours of the forest are muted, but the wet and the warmth of spring brings the first sprinkling of pale yellow wattle and colourful correa. The green moss on the long fallen logs is vibrant and soft. The stark white of the noisy cockatoo flashes overhead.
What do I want? And why do I keep asking this question? Could I be happier than in this very moment?
My fire is coals now and the last of the coffee is in my cup. This is the greatest peace that I know.
I will pack my things and sleep a short while on the ground, on the earth, by the water and the small fire. Just for a while, just for my soul.
deivamarina 