A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Eighteen.

The final chapter…is called ‘Coming Home’

 

PART EIGHTEEN>

COMING HOME

…The day of my home coming was hot, just like the day we left.  It was seasonably hot but, I think, it was much hotter.  And like with 80% of most home comings I could feel the final anticipation of the journey.  My eyes were tired, not just from travelling, but from the after effect of travelling.  It was like a project that was coming to an end.  My heart was racing and my fingers were sweating lightly.  This anticipation, it was like I’m waiting for that one moment, the final moment the car pulled up into the drive, and I can say “I’m home.”

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Seventeen.

And the end is slowly coming!

PART SEVENTEEN>

…There’s something strangely beautiful about an Australian countryside.  Especially in the Victorian South East, the Gippsland area, where within the mass of outstretched forestry, there are farmlands.  It’s these that quench my eyes.  It’s these that I find beautiful.  They hold my attention, spreading for acres on end, green and gold, horizontal and vertical.  Cut in various shapes, but bare, all the same.  It’s like a picturesque landscape by some artist.  It’s still and bare of life, yet thriving in absolute wonder.  I see all this from high above and my thirst for beauty is quenched.  It’s so beautiful that I can’t even explain it…

 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Sixteen.

I guess I must have seen another rock filled valley or maybe it was the same one, because I wrote this.

 

PART SIXTEEN>

…I stand in a bed of rocks, grey and flat, barely a trickle of water slipping past.  I can feel the rushing water washing my ankles clean.  I can feel the dirt disappear and the current tugs me down.  This used to be a river.  It is no more… 

 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Fifteen Point Two.

The image I promised that goes with Part Fifteen

PART FIFTEEN POINT TWO>

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Fifteen.

I found the image that goes with this section of text by surprise butttttttttttttt I won’t post it today.  I want you to imagine it first, then when you see it tomorrow, I wonder, will you think the same?

 

PART FIFTEEN>

…I look out at the lake that’s a part of the view at the campsite.  When its low tide and the sun is out, the sand glimmers beneath the water from the sea.  Bars and islands of sand rise out of the water and the children are swimming and playing treasure island.  It’s a sparkling spectacular, full of light, full of warmth and job and fun.  I feel like I want to be a part of it too.  Tempted I am to grab my kayak and paddle about in the shallow water.  But I prefer to look.  I prefer to devour.  I want to see this strange and common beauty.  I want to see the heat of the day shimmer on the surface of the water, send ripples across the lake and toss sand in the air. 

And then the moment passes with a few hours.  The water rises, consuming the sand once again.  It hides the bars and islands like a golden story of atlantis.  I watch the golden domes that had been so clear below the surface of the water fade away into a water depth.  The children retreat and the tinnies roar to life.  One by one the moorings empty and one by one wet footprints appear. And the lake is filled with fishermen, clad in yellow lifejackets, and caps of all kinds, their rods, a fine stick in the air.   The sight is classic. 

But as the sunsets, and the orange light of the evening spreads across the campsite, the water, at high tide, has become a lake of gold.  I am in awe, at the beautiful colour.  It’s pale and light, just like the colour of fading hot day.  The sea breeze is chill and the water is calm.  The tinnies return and the neighbours talk.  But it’s the setting sun and the golden lake that’s the most amazing.  A once in a lifetime.  The cycle will happen again tomorrow, but there is only one kind of sunset like this one.  Only one time I’ll ever see this kind of shade.  Only one.

But it’s beautiful…

 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Fourteen.

 

PART FOURTEEN>

…I look out to the lake.  The water was high, consuming the banks on either side.  I cannot see the beach I played on with my puppy one year ago.  It’s hidden under the present of a king tide, and I am in awe.  It is not a flood.  It is not an overflow of rain.  It is the rise of the sea at its mightiest.  I wonder if it had been a full moon.  I wonder what caused such a high tide…

 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Thirteen.

 

PART THIRTEEN>

…there are so many stars in the sky.  Like any country scape, they’re clearer than the planetarium.  Tiny lights in the sky that represent giant suns and planets larger than earth, they seem to twinkle.  I see Orion’s belt.  It’s the only constellation aside from the Southern Cross that I know.  Three lights line across a small section of the sky indicate the belt.  And that’s the only way I recognise it. 

I am lost looking at the sky, I can’t stop turning and spinning, searching its darkness.  I can’t see the Southern Cross.  I can’t see the pointer stars either, but the sky is beautiful, entrancing, dizzying, I can’t pull my eyes away…