A still morning

One of the nicer things about winter is the lack of crowds. Another is the bay on cold, still mornings where it seems to be in hibernation, breathing lightly. This morning the faintest of pulse-like wavelets, arriving on an island of sand at low tide, and wrapping their energy gently around them.

I stood there for a while, filming it, and taking it in.

Flying towards Bird Rock

A friend of mine bought a drone and too me out flying it, setting up dual controls. He flew, and I took some photos. I was interested in the change of perspective, of seeing this familiar coastal strip from a different angle. Here’s footage, flying towards Bird Rock, where I’ve spent many summer afternoons. It was a clear winter day and the water was so clear.

Re-connecting: Walking in the Briars

Most of the year for me is spent split between working in Melbourne and getting down to the Mornington Peninsula on weekends.

So, one of the things I like most about the holidays is the chance to be in one place for a while, and re-connect with some of my favourite places like the Briars.

I’ve blogged about the Briars before (do a search if you like) but I never get sick of the place, and the way the creek defines it as well as its sense of history.

Today I did the longer 4k loop and also walked out via the new Harrap Creek track for the first time. I’ve captured some of the moments below, but one moment I didn’t capture was seeing a big red-bellied black snake asleep by the side of the track. The trouble is, once you’ve seen a snake on a walk, you see them everywhere, in every shadow, root, branch or piece of broken bark on the track or just off it. It tends to take the meditating mind off the poetry a bit. Though, it did make me think, ‘have I ever written a poem about a snake?’, like D.H. Lawrence did? Looking back, it seems I have only had one go at it, this poem that was published in *Eureka Street* in 2011. Maybe it’s time for another go?

Late Walk Along Jerusalem Inlet

Rows of trees knee-deep in bracken
trunks green with soft moss
all dead or dying
a shovel shaped pit
the sound of water
some Mirkwood path
to a wide green place
where a house was
all ruined
broken rocks and bricks,
beside the broken oak tree,
a non-allegorical snake.

Below: The view from the bird hide

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The prophetic sign: this was exactly the snake I saw half an hour after reading this sign.

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Signs of former use; old fence posts from when this was farmland.

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Common farmland birds poster in the bird hide

 

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The boardwalk

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Spring Paddock Dam

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Balcombe Creek

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Below: Balcombe Creek
Nice to see it flowing after a bit of rain this week.

Below: Spring Paddock Dam
Listen carefully for the frogs.

Stories everywhere; Poems too

Substitute the word ‘poem’ for ‘story’ in this article and video from Krissy Clark below and it equates pretty closely to how I think sometimes about my writing, and my poetry. In a way it’s a mapping of the place in poetry, maybe not on the grand scale in the way that Hardy or Yeats or Frost mapped their world, but my world, localised, specific and layered with meaning for me.

The stories here are factual histories: who lived here? what happened on this place in history? They are reminding us of the layers of meaning. My places are more imaginative or made-up or responsive to me. They normally aren’t about what happened here before (though I wrote a poems about the Aboriginal people who lived and ate mussels on what I thought of as ‘my’ beach) but about me passing through these places and responding to them.

I thought I could/should create an interactive map of my region; with clickable links to poems that focus on that particular moment. Maybe I will. Meanwhile, I very much like the ideas of the past in this project.

http://storieseverywhere.org/2012/01/05/the-vision-i-had-in-the-desert/