COMMENT by ERWIN CHLANDA
Where is it?
I’d have to shoot you if I told you.
Let’s says it’s an hour from Alice, give or take.
Head off an hour before sunset and on your way you’ll be treated to the rugged rocks taking on a deep orange which could be the colour of love, and gumtrees turning into pure gold.
The setting sun on one side of the hills and valleys, and the looming black of the night on the other, take you through a wonderland spread out on both sides of the empty road.
Then you turn toward “it” as the mountain range hanging down from the horizon becomes enveloped in a darkening grey and there is “it” – a sharp, black, powerful, permanent presence in the land.
You shut down the engine and you worry. You can’t hear a thing.
That’s silence, you realise. Complete and utter silence. The traffic, the yapping dogs, the leaf blowers, the chatter, all the myriad of irritations, you have them left far behind.
You wake with “it” in the morning and you walk, in any direction.
The light and shadow play is turned the other way ‘round now, seen between rock towers, along stony dry creeks, some gumtrees, and that big, free openness.
Paradise? Nah. Better.