September 8, 2010
Looking down on a doona of clouds I don’t think about falling. The world seems upside down, like I’m under the sea looking up at the surface and through to a more familiar world. Perhaps flying feels just like swimming, if you’re a bird instead of a fish.
But in an aeroplane we sit as if on a bus. We read and drink and converse and mostly forget that we might fall. It’s usually just before touchdown that I remember, and have to brace myself for the small drop to the tarmac, noisy reverse thrusters rousing us all from the dream.
In Perth we made a small pilgrimage to an ancient Boab tree in the Botanic Gardens, to honour the land of its birth, the spirit country of a friend – somewhere in the Kimberley.Although the time in Perth feels like an instant now, when we weren’t asleep we were fully awake for all of it – the busy household with laughing crying playing kids, my brother’s birthday, yummy meals, small conversations, going to school, watching the X Factor, the wildflowers’ early blooms, the sea air and green Indian Ocean, a fabulous state art collection, reading in the warm sun, and hugs hello and goodbye. Oh – and catching an awful cold from too many baby cuddles, which has just passed its peak I hope.