‘Silence is safer than speech’ – Epictetus
Silence. Do we ever truly know what it is? What of the white noise that sweeps over our everyday lives, or the incidental noise that punctures the air? What does silence look like? This photo I took today is what silence looks like for me, out here. Thousands of miles of a seemingly silent landscape. It’s what that lies underfoot; what the earth bequeaths us when we least expect it.
It’s going to take a few days to ‘acclimatise’ to the silence. It always does.
The sky turned it on tonight, but I’m holding out for some wicked cloud formations over the coming weeks, all of which I plan to share with you.
Another glimpse of silence. The earth opening up, as though it wants to take me somewhere. Not like Alice into the garden, but to take me through the arteries of the land that lay beneath my feet. These cracks by the homestead are small – delicate and polite, even. The crevasses in the paddocks seem to invite you to sink into them, as though they want you to disappear into them.
We need rain out here. We need rain yesterday. We need rain last week. There hasn’t been any good, solid rain since March. It’s dry. Not as bone dry as I’ve seen it, but dry.
We went for a wander tonight, trying to find en emu one of the dogs had attacked and dragged through the fence. We failed to find it, but it must have scarpered to stumble and die. The dog had had a really good go at its neck, so it was mortally wounded. This is country life. Life and death.
^ Bird on a wire ^