"The western plains of New South Wales are grasslands...In a good season, if the eyes are turned to the earth on those plains, they see a tapestry of delicate life - not the luxuriant design of a book of hours by any means, but a tapestry nonetheless, designed by a spare modern artist."
The Road From Coorain - Jill Ker Conway
When I was growing up our family would drive the road between Brisbane and Sydney at least once a year, through small towns and open spaces, bound for a holiday with family. A whole day between major cities, my young mind was baffled to understand why buildings and houses didn't populate all the vacant earth.
I looked through tall grass and empty hills supposing that one day someone would come along, and make it how it should be - covered with cement and cities.
Add a few more years of life and wisdom, and now I pass through large concrete cities longing for greenery, a little bit of earth and trees that stretch out shade to those beneath. Maybe it was the holidays I spent running through my Oma and Opa's paddocks, but I learnt to appreciate the space and the freedom that is ignited in your soul when you cross a open meadow.
Last weekend we drove to Brisbane for a wedding, and spent time with my parents visiting their farm an hour outside of the city. Their home is often one of the most refreshing elements of a trip, and this time we got to see the new calfs running through the grass.
When we drove back into our town on Monday night, the last bit of daylight hovered at the horizon. The pale orange light made the distant mountains look purple, no concrete or cityscapes casting shadows on the end of the day. And we were home.
"At sunset, the cumulus ranges through the shades of a Turner seascape before the sun dives below the earth leaving no afterglow, but at the horizon, tongues of fire. "