Every breath of wind leaves a mark on something. Every stirring vibration creates a shift or a ripple leading elsewhere. Every sign of life is a wound. Where it all begins or ends we can’t be sure, only that it was before our own first breath. It will continue beyond our last.
I thought I was a stream and with my flow I would look up and move in a dance with the sky. But it turns out I am a dry stagnant rock, with life crashing around me in rapid chaos as I appear solid and unmoved. What will it take to shatter me?
What will I be next? Sometimes it takes some sitting still to get my bearings, terrifying as it is. Am I safe here?
I invite the sun to bleach me of my fear, blind me into submission and wrap me in it’s all-knowing warmth. Or perhaps I steal from the sun, perhaps it offers me nothing – but I take.
The Grampians and the Baroka Downs Retreat are the locations of these images, Victoria.