Escape into the private life

I have taken a trip to visit my sister. Into tropical, blissfully dry weather.

My mind still running to a clock that keeps ticking. Stop. Stop. Tick. Tock. The constancy of the weather is reassuring at first. I like its accountability and for now I loathe - can barely even imagine - going back to the cold chastity of Melbourne.

I visited Kakadu. I found it difficult at first to engage with such a vastness. I'm a white little alien in an ancient landscape. I felt so foreign, swathing myself in sunscreen. My mind was taken back to Voss - I became one of those white pieces of paper in the shredded letters that flutter like cockatoos. Although belonging far less than a cockatoo, I fluttered and flapped like the useless words I have to describe such a landscape. I've lost my copy of the book, so I can't even borrow some of his words to help.

I am always enchanted by how beautiful, and deeply aesthetic men and women become when they are connected wholly to a place. The Aboriginal murals that adorn the caves, those which are open to the general public, are remarkable firstly for their inherent beauty. I claim nil expertise on any accurate interpretation of their true meaning, yet what I could not help but notice was their lack of sophistry. Rather, the pictures speak plainly, truthfully: "here is a story about the perils of not obeying our custom. Proceed, therefore, with respect and caution. Not only appreciate the wisdom of those who have gone before, know that they knew the secrets within. Life and death are mysterious forces, play wisely".

Tomorrow I head to Litchfield, for some crocodile free swimming. It is also quite strange to be "not able" to go where I please due to natural forces like crocodiles. While in thirty-five degree heat it is somewhat irritating, it is also marvelously humbling that I could be part of the food chain for a change.

I'll return via Sydney town and short visit to Pindari.