Like lovers, light and life always find the way to each other…
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.
It’s not all sharp lines, right angles, grey horizons here… it’s important to remember that. And yet so easy to forget…
Day 16. Tasmania.
Not many days left now… and I still find myself contemplating what we might mean by ‘old’ and ‘new’ here; is the convict-built house old? Or the tree, planted some time later? Or is ‘old’ the hills, the grass, the history etched into the ground since long before us? And what does ‘old’ mean in the city? Do we make it, or do we find it?