finding
these orange thongs
left sitting on the stairs
into the pool at
Bronte Beach
on Monday
somehow seemed
to signify
one was entering
a sacred space...
leaving ones shoes
at the doorway
as a mark of respect
perhaps years ago
I became attached
to this place
when visiting sydney
when visiting sydney
for many
a reason -
a reason -
living in melbourne
from '88 to '00
on return from
london was not
a difficult adjustment
considering climate
and geography -
but one thing
missed living
so far south after
growing up
in the sub-tropics
was this sensuality
of summer swimming and
abundant shades of aqua,
blues, greens,
greys and blacks
that the water
would shift in and out of
as the days became nights
became days
and the
weather cast its vote.
but one thing
missed living
so far south after
growing up
in the sub-tropics
was this sensuality
of summer swimming and
abundant shades of aqua,
blues, greens,
greys and blacks
that the water
would shift in and out of
as the days became nights
became days
and the
weather cast its vote.
hours of reverie
and lazy times
given to the
company of friends,
books and
saturation for the senses.
...drawing the water,
noticing the
movement of light and
seeing more,
over time,
more and more,
over years,
learning to 'see'
the microcosmos
and macrocosmos.
leaving the teaming
city behind for the
most private of
dreaming
spaces
and yet
not
held
in
awe...
a
pool
so
quietening
and yet
in a place
so part
of the fabric
of a
larger
world
to be stilled
by a place
so urban,
so visited,
so loved...
so shared.
a quiet mystery
that one could be
so absorbed,
so deeply enchanted.
That one's
private
world could be
richly fed
when
so surrounded
by a multiplicity of
others
and their dreamings
and musings and laughter
and sorrows.
