The walk down to the beach is familiar. Red sandy pindan slowly turning to white as the track winds through the paperbarks and then the tea tree. Raven, wallaby, beetles, ants, and kites all leave their impressions in the sand… Criss crossing, blurring into footprints and disappearing into grass. I’m here, but still landing, still tuning in. Is it enough just to be here?
Being with Country 