Around me, in all directions, the canopy of box eucalypts. The landscape wounded by its gold fever history, heavily damaged but yet not destroyed. Denuded of its soil, eroded into gullies, pockmarked with holes, rock exposed in all directions. But still trees growing strong, some for more than 100 years, despite this adversity. And in turn these trees made home for birds of many sizes, shapes and colours. Those birds, those trees - my companions, in those despairing and despondent days of pain and paralysis, stopping me from falling into the void.
The lack of walls separating me from outside may have meant occasional challenges to comfort, like exposure to icy gusts and sometimes even below zero temperatures overnight, or the inescapable full midday heat of summer and accompanying ever present clouds of flies, but at a time of disconnection, doubt, desperation, depression… it also meant that I was never alone, never really able to completely close off and give up.
I had been pushed to my limits in so many directions. I had pushed myself and been pushed by others; I had been pushed by circumstances, events and accidents; pushed by choices, and by lack of choices; by dreams, and by the desolation of dreams too big, too wild, too impossible to fulfil.
There could have been nothing left.
But instead there was yet deep within, the glimmer of new beginnings, and the stirrings of hope; the spread of new growth brought by sweet red breasted friends, grey morning songs and tiny nesting flitters; the times of change to come signalled by the rustles and creaks of the wind approaching through the trees and lightning flashes in the night; fresh eucalyptus scents and glittering sunlit leaves following cleansing rain showers; sunlight, starlight, moonlight, painted skies of sunsets and dawning of new days shining the way.
That land saved me. It spoke to me, and I heard it.
But still I had to go.
