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 |  ~ in the neck is low tech, through the heart is high art ~ |
| I descend sideways, a deliberation, rocks of sand crumbling in the ripples of my bootsoles. My walking stick is not meant for bush tracks, yet here I am. I am determined, perhaps stubborn, or merely foolish, pushing down this path, a steep shortcut, ghostly verticals of gum trees watching me with indifference. Pain brings no shortcuts. There are two kinds of pain,push-through-it pain & stop-right-now. I stop, collect my breath, plant my cane between roots into soil. Not that long ago, I would fly through such space without thought. The beauty of the track, knotted & irregular, eerie & shadowed, no railings, no phone signal, is not meant for people like me, but here I am, determined, perhaps stubborn, or merely foolish. April 27 - beauty  |
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