Albert breaks
and swerves to avoid a soaring eagle.
‘They fly in an absolute random way.’
We are driving
along the Matilda Hwy
from Cloncurry to Karumba. We have the rising sun directly to the left. I can
still envisage the blaze of orange directly to our right from the evening
before. I have an absolute sure sense of driving north on a straight road. The
road leads to the only port in the gulf of Carpentaria. It’s a direct run from
A to B. Previously it was a telegraph station. Now it’s a Mecca for fishing and travellers looking for
that perfect sunset.
When Albert
said ‘they fly in an absolute random way’, I saw the hooded gaze of the eagle
press into my mind’s eye.
Random? Indeed
not, sir. I am not driven by the length of this black scar you call a road. I
am not going to a known destination. I am not following a path that is laid out
for me by those who have come before. You shoot through the landscape with the
sensitivity of a bullet from a gun.
I am an eagle.
I am governed by my being. I take the course shown to me by my ancestors, by
the wind, by the lay of the land. Every moment is living. Every moment I am.
(Eagles can’t
help but look regal and powerful. Even when they have their claws holding down
the red entrails of road kill. The wedge-tail eagles out here, they say, the
largest in the world, with a wing span of up to 2.5 metres)
Out here,
living on the road, we are subject to the force of nature in a way I haven’t
experienced before. We don’t really look at the watch. We don’t need to know
time. We sleep when its dark, wake up when its light. Eat when we’re hungry,
and move on to the next spot.
The mosquitoes
come and go. The fly density and persistence changes from area to area. The air
becomes humid or dry. The landscape undulates slowly, slowly. There’s no rain
and scarcely a cloud in the sky.
At all times I
feel the sun overhead. I have to remind myself that it’s the earth that is
moving. We are on a constant spin, bathing all parts of the land in the burning
heat of the sun.
There’s
daylight and darkness. During the day, the landscape shifts with the length of
shadows. Of dust, of the call of birds. The roads are dominated by white four
wheel drives and long seemingly unending ribbon of gravel.
The night is emblazoned
by a sea of stars, and/or the luminous curve of the moon. I think, those stars
are still there, even if the sun is up. I just can’t see them. It makes me feel
good. Just to be conscious of it.
I’ve seen some
beautiful starry skies. One of the best in Mora, Sweden.
But out here, its something else. Its every night. A midnight blue decorated with twinkling, some
flashing, brilliant stars. Some nights I’ve seen 5 shooting stars, one after
the other.
Just a few
nights ago I started to see constellations. It was a big change for me. I’ve
looked up before, countless times, and seen a big mass of dots, but now, I
start to recognise the shapes I’ve seen on the TV, or in star maps. It was as
if all the dust I my mind had a chance to settle and I can see what’s on the horizon.
My brain isn’t full like it usually it of its own importance. I have time. Time
to look. To be, to sit still.
The other day,
as I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I though, I miss those moment. I
remember when it took longer to boil the water. The tea was prepared, ready,
and there was a few moments when you had to wait, and the mind had a chance to
drift and dream, and it was a haze, a delight, a pause of the cares of the day. Before the next ‘I
should’. But that’s even gone now, with
the ‘one minute boil’ kettles of the modern kitchen. (Well, I should mention
that this is for some readers. In Spain, though I consider them
modern, they don’t have kettles. Nope. They just use a pot on the stove.)
As we become
more acquainted with the skies, they become alive. We start to think
differently. Our growing consciousness is greeted by the ancients of Egypt, of Persia,
of China, of India
who had the skies as their evening contemplation. Who looked up and created maps, keys, symbols,
stories so we could identify with the huge expanse.
When I look
up, I don’t feel small and insignificant. I feel connected to the past and a
living being of the present. I feel as
important as everything else. Everything, each and every thing, makes up the
universe. I’m happy to have the experience, and to be able to share it.
We had a great
espresso in Cloncurry, at a place called ‘Cuppa’. They served monsterous
muffins, much to Jett’s delight. They had some photographs up of the out back.
If you’d like to see some pretty good professional photos, take a peek.
