At certain times of the day shadows slide over rock walls walking in a determined direction like thoughts striding across the mind as if late for an appointment. Although set against a coarse surface, they themselves are not substantive, yet their journey carries the compass of disparate migrations.
As mist spreads over the mountains, I am lost in a present spun from threads of a past woven together in diverse rhythms. Here, even the dead have their dance. It is with this in mind that "we are witnessing a shift from
This morning the trees practice an intense yoga, holding themselves in an asana until moved by the wind. Do the walls shudder slightly as these shadows slip past them? Unlike Australia's Dreamtime ancestors who stopped to shape the land into their own being, these spirits begin as an unknown adventure in an unknown space. It is at the moment of completion that in a flash of recognition, they are seen to have the quantity and function which mark their passage with the nameless beauty of an irreconcilable antiquity.