We’ve made it to triple figures – day 100!
And what better way to celebrate than with the first brilliant sun of the morning, warming the buildings of the distant city? And if you look closely, you might even find a special surprise – four balloons gently riding their own source of light and heat, to trace a quiet journey through this beautiful morning…
There are many kinds of history…
There’s the history of people, told in stories of trust, love, hatred, fear, jealousy, revenge, opportunity.
And then there’s the history of places, felt in every scratch on every doorframe, every flaking strip of paint, every rotted panel falling away to the touch, every tentative thread of ivy, taking over and filling in the gaps.
There is much history in this place.
The globes reminded me of water, reflecting light from above, where there are colours: reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, indigo, violet.
And then below the surface, there we are… working away at our own purposes, no-one ever looking up to see what might be stirring above… it’s all we can do to keep moving, a busy life trying not to sink to the bottom…
We are all reaching for something, looking up, looking ahead, looking for something more, something new, something bigger.
Time is a fluid thing, fast or slow, or sometimes both at once… how else could you watch the moon gently edging across the sky at the exact same time as the cars streak through, leaving only their noise behind, and at the exact same time as the lights slowly blink on, a window and then a floor and then a building at a time?
It all happens in a heartbeat, and a lifetime, and something in between.
Living in the middle of the city, it’s easy to fall out of time… no sunrise or sunset, no feeling of warm light on your neck, no watching the sun chase the darkness away from the sky.
One sunrise changes everything. I remember it all, and feel… alive, connected, part of a slow turning, changing, beautiful world.
The night markets are back – this time with even more soupy, smoky, meaty, noisy, busy, warm atmosphere. It’s a beacon in the darkness that is winter in Melbourne.
Ah, welcome. Thanks for coming.
Your gateway awaits…
Geometry is all around us – the sky neatly ruled and sectioned, the right angles of buildings lurking nearby, and the steps leading us ever upwards. Surrounded with such precision there’s really nothing else to do but stand and watch…
It seems almost strange to think…
Once, this was a place of great hardship, struggle, pain, sacrifice.
Now, it is none of those things.
It’s as though as time passes,
the sadness slips through the cracks in the walls,
buried under the layers of paint, dirt, and time,
falling away like the leaves, to be replaced by something
Time passes. We forget. It’s how we begin again.