I don't see the prison to my right or the cemetary to my left or the burgeoning new housing estate behind me. If all I see is the blue sky above and the gum trees that stand silently beside me, feel the cool teasing breeze of the imminent evening tugging at my hair as I walk along this old bumpy road, if all I hear are the caws of the crows, the delight of the parrots fighting over the mangoes in the trees, the silly tweets of the tiny little sparrows as they dart in between the broken down fence, if all I see are the mountains that frame this scene, and the sweet distant mooing of a cow ready to bed down for the night, 2011 is but a haze in the distance. It is 1969 and I'm a child holidaying on my grandparents farm. The kookaburras chuckle at my childlike wonder as I sit deep in memory.
What is the magic of this time in the afternoon as I sit on this hill overlooking a green picture book country side? What is the comfort that the bush gives me that I don't get anywhere else in the world. My heart is light and I feel like I'm home. I breathe deeply in relief and my body feels like it can just be for a moment.My connection to life, flows through me stronger when I'm out here. The birds, the breeze, the leaves as they gently rustle are all reminders of the wealth that is right in front of me. I want to wrap myself in this moment. I wish to camp out here under the stars with nothing to cover me but this majesty and beauty. The creeks, that swelled and overflowed in January, calmly sit reflecting the sky while kangaroos congregate on the hill to farewell the day and settle for the night.
I can almost see Millie, my grandma, sitting on the steps of the dilapidated old farm house perched on the hill opposite me. She dusts off her apron, bends to the side to pull a couple of weeds from her geranium patch under the steps and wipes the sweat off her brow as she plans her next job for the day. Its not just the mundane household chores of cooking, cleaning, washing, gardening and sewing – she rises at 3am to help her husband do the milking and is planning another of her many projects – always for the benefit of others – household, family, church, school or community. Her sister is visiting and she’ll clean up after dinner quickly so she can play games with Aggie – roaring with laughter while scheming to annihilate each other in scrabble and Chinese checkers strategy.
I think of Millie often throughout my life but this evening, seated outside surrounded by bush, valleys, hills and landscapes dotted with farms, dams, paddocks and sheds, she is with me as if the memory overlaps into my present.
“Can you feel the trees here? Can you hear the birds and the crickets? They are singing to you. This symphony kept me alive in times of exhaustion, stress and grief and heartache. The sound of the bush is the sound of the stars is the sound of my mother’s heartbeat in the womb. Feel this space – the peace – the green – remember and breathe it in slowly and deeply. Do you remember having a bath in the late afternoons, changing into freshly starched hand sewn pyjamas, having early dinner and then sitting on the steps listening to the bush? You were never afraid and always eager to explore and discover the life that danced amongst the trees at twilight.”
“Drape yourself in your childhood memories of bush, farm, playing, freedom, silence, safety and love. Your parents loved you well for they recognised that you needed to be in the bush. Taking you to wherever I was and to Cooran was their gift to you. The smells of the bush ignite a fire in your heart and this fire is me – my love – my energy – my life force transformed.”
“A big part of you have become a cynic and your jaded view of soul mates and love diminishes your view of that glorious landscape. Look closer. You have been shown the colours and textures of your own heart and been loved deeply. Open your hands, kiss the dove that you hold and give it permission to fly free - fly into the divine blue sky that tomorrow holds.”
As the setting sun fades the green of this valley, the damp emerald of the vines that climb over the cow bales tease my nose with smells that erase so many decades at once taking me back to just outside the kitchen where I can almost hear Millie and Aggie rolling around in loud guffaws as they bellow about their made up seven letter triple score words.
Venus has appeared above my head, giving me a sign that love is all around me, as I sit on this hill overlooking a green picture book country side, safe in the arms of my memories - my very own made up triple score story.
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