The <Australian> forests are seeped in a wisdom that brings a sense of knowing to the individual inhabiting them and the quieting gesture of stilled peace….in the forest, time moves slowly, blind to my fingers clicking away at the keys in slow motion, the steam from coffee rising erotically and slowly with its promise of caffeine… sound moves slowly to the listeners ear…..and the breath of the individual is sucked into the lungs in a slow rhythm filling one with the wisdom of the forest, and allowing the soul to escape from its physical confines into the etheric breath of the canopy. Nothing of significance happens here….wars come and go, houses built, towns established, the rise and fall of nations, birth, death…..and the steady pulse of the forest inhales the chaos and exhales the little worries of the earths creatures, and just is. One cant help but be filled with a sense of wonder as a hand is laid on the bark of a magnificent karri tree, the hand, small and flea like, and feel the core of the earth extend itself out through the epidermis of the tree into the universe and realize that we are just part of this world, that there are things unseen, going on around us, that in our limited wisdom and knowledge, surpass our wonder. Its like going that little step beyond the universe….to all that is fluid and intangible, to the core creative process of it all, to the god-ness of our limited religions, and being blinded by its simplicity.

theres a silence outside amongst the wind, the silence of the day as it draws to the end, the silence of winter as it succumbs to the force of spring and bids a retreat.  summer beckons, with its hot winds and sultry evenings, daring those to shed their clothing and dance and roll on the sands and in the silence of the twilight. There is a shimmer, an elegance a raw excitement that even the ancient trees of the forest stand erect,  waiting, waiting, asking the sun, in its setting glory and in its winning war with winter, to stay a little longer, touch a little deeper, lounge a little further....but the sun replies a gracious no to its brilliance, leaving traces of its warmth, enticing and stirring the creatures of the land to continue dancing a frenzy in the afterglow.....

cold is the morning before the dawn, cold is the day with the sun up. cold is the dusk, bringing with it a party of cold. cold and rainy, my feet numb to the cold, the sound of rain pouring down cold and drenching the world as winter comes crashing in. the house is leaking, interior walls sheeted with dripping water, the tinkling gathering in pools drowning little bugs in their wake.  I wonder, do they feel the cold of the water? Do they know this is the death of the Antarctic reaching out to them? The fire is burning in rebellion to the cold, candles flicker in the dark reaches of the house mimicking warmth, as the rain slowly turns to sleet and crashes against the window pane in violence. I turn up the music, drowning out the sound of the winters celebration of glory over the retreating summer…...

eden

All art, pictures and text  are original, except where noted  copyright2000