Cutting up carrots

Cutting carrot sticks - the redness seeps into my memory, images begin to solidify. The red earth of the Nullarbor plain, the piercing cold nights, the crystal clear stars so bright in the all-enveloping darkness; millions upon millions of dancing lights. Our forebears gave this landscape its name, a place of ' no trees'. In a way, a dismissive term which ignores the complexity of this vast expanse of saltbush and bluebush with some low shrubs dotted across what was once an ocean floor. In the blazing heat of day, ten metres below this arid earth the coolness is amazing. So too are the fossilised rocks embedded with sea shells and marine creatures of a past epoch.  Having clambered down only a few metres, the sound of dripping water and the smell of dampness becomes a part of another world, a world of underground river systems, hundreds of caves with some blowholes closer to the ocean. Time stretches back millions of years, the idea of eternity takes an almost tangible shape when confronted by these signs of evolutionary history.

Ramblings and Reminisces

The title of my blog Ramblings and Reminisces is no doubt self evident, but I would like to elucidate. I hope that occasional ramblings through the kaleidoscope of ideas that are a part of any day, will give me a starting point for metaphorically throwing some ink on the page. While rambling, I will inevitably stumble across something that triggers memories of the past - this Proustian like connection will be my reminisces - however, to quote Proust himself, "remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things that were".

One of the reasons I enjoy the poetry of Gwen Harwood is because of the way she uses memory within her poems, connecting current experience to the past. Although anything I write will be mundane and bland, I will, nevertheless attempt to write something, hoping that, as Proust said "the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes".

Seasonal changes

The approaching winter months heralded by the courting of magpies, the changing colours of leaves, the energetic planting of the veggie garden and the lighting of the evening fire, bring a sense of pleasure and satisfaction. It is as though the collective unconscious is asserting its influence, reminding me that these actions have been a part of lives for millions of years and because of that   authenticate one's place in a universe that is both mysterious and at times seemingly comprehensible.