The mighty Murray…
They seemed to march across the frame, following each other to inevitability and oblivion as they sank into the river. They must have seen, must have known, and yet still they march, still they follow, still they sink. And then are still.
(Nothing like a lazy cruise on a still morning to indulge in a spot of casual anthropomorphism…)
River time is different time.
Breaths as long as tides,
moments of stillness in between.
as we wait to exhale.
Near to where my parents-in-law live, there’s a remarkable cave called Natural Bridge, where a river has cut a path through the roof, and pours through into the space below with remarkable ferocity and noise.
Further down that path, the river seems to calm itself, moving in much more hushed tones and curving around, rather than through, the surrounding landscape.
I guess we are all changeable…
A mid-afternoon adventure, following the twists in the road as we negotiate this particular turn in our own plotline, and then the river. The gentle, silent stream called us back, and we stopped, and for a moment, as the bugs hung lazily in the warm air and we wandered with cameras to our eyes, time stopped too… we were here. Together. We were together.
We need to feel the sum of all our parts
Are more than what’s laid out in lines upon our palms.
Although our hands aren’t tied, we move as though they are,
Until we’re bound by branching out.
– “Lines on palms”, Josh Pyke.