Concentrating on a snaking bitumen road ahead, the rambling hills and wide vistas carpeted with winter grasses and sheep and ravens fills my periphery and it feels like home on many deep and wordless levels.
My eyes are always drawn to the snow gums and the candlebarks or ribbon gums that are dotted through paddocks (and I grieve for this land that was once thick with them before the graziers came). The granite boulders everywhere, like trolls in waiting, asleep and cold and old. I loved to sit on these boulders at Shady Bower, fascinated by the crystalline sparkles and green lichen attached like super glue. I allow my attention to be caught by birds of prey, always - suspended moments of time that feel so much longer because I am wholly present to them, even though in reality they are fleeting.
Black shouldered kites (Elanus axillaris) hovering delicate as hummingbirds, then swiftly diving down to unsuspecting prey. The great wedge tailed eagles (Aquila audax) soaring above, whose elegance and ferocity swell my heart until tears prick my eyes. Their wildness feels too large to comprehend, I almost lose my breath. I lean over the steering wheel and look up at them for as long as I safely can, rolling my shoulders I feel my own wings unfurling, wanting to join theirs, an ache in the pit of my stomach that I am confined to this human body. A tiny moment of connection and wonder as a little eagle (hieraaetus morphnoides) sweeps across the road in front of me and up into the white limbs of a gum close to the roadside, turning their head to watch me with golden eyes, hooded and frowning at my incursion in their wild home. “Hello beautiful” I say, and extend my reverence and adoration and awe.
So much life whips by as these four wheels propel me at 110kmph through life and away from tender, fragile roots and scant childhood memories.
We laid my Pa into the earth of this High Country that was his home for more than 90 years of his long and well lived life. The weather held sunshine, blue skies, fierce cold winds, roiling dark clouds, a smattering of snowy rain, and calm. Such is life too, right? Pa was truly a part of this land. As a child I would watch him walk the paddocks, his height seemed never to change. Long and strong limbs navigated the terrain as though by memory, his hips loose and levelling his steps, his akubra parallel to the earth and shading those eyes that saw so much. I think we honoured him well, but oh, we loved him with all our hearts and that is where he will always remain, regardless of where we are scattered over this wide brown land.
I have mentioned before how hard this year has been, personally. It is unlike anything I have experienced before in its sheer extent and relentlessness. Or perhaps it feels that way after our collective experience of intense upheaval and fear and uncertainty of the last three years (and still). Or because I am ever older, my heart a little more tender. This long drive though gave me so much space to ponder and wonder and even, yes, to heal. A little. To have to focus on watching the road, but also be delighted by the intense wild that surrounded me, flickers of deep connection and inspiration and curiosity. To allow my mind to roam as I moved through this wild land.
I am tenderly making plans (and trying not to over-plan), shaping new paths, surrendering, celebrating. This is a new beginning, as is every new day, every new moment, of course, but this feels more expansive, more hopeful. I can’t wait to share these with you over the coming weeks. Thank you all for your support, your kind words, and your embraces from afar. This year’s grief has been multifaceted and all encompassing, but ultimately, grief is an act of love. To have had so much love is a gift, and I hope my life remains filled with it, always.
More soon, dear one.
Beautifully written Natalie, what a wonderful homage to your dear grandfather. I can only hope that one day, when I am laid in the ground, my grandchildren love me as viscerally, their memories as warm as yours of your grandfather. Thank you for sharing.
It does feel as though these seasons of relentless loss leave us open in new ways. And as always, the wild world holds us in the vulnerability of that opening. Thank you for sharing.