the sound of a fiddle starts up…
and somewhere in the space between the music beginning and a song starting,
i get lost in the past. i find myself on the back of a horse, riding the dusty trails behind cattle on our farm near Bowen. i think i was 10.
the moments merge and fuse so closely together, it seems only a heart beat away that i was there. or maybe the two co-exist together now. that consciousness meets this consciousness.
i was a cowgirl when i was a kid. the smell of horses is still my favourite scent in the world. my little sister and i both have a peculiar obsession with the scent of our saddle shed – leather and oils; dust and years.
she and i would make up our own radio station as we rode along towards the cattle, singing songs, making announcements. SisterFM.
those were the days i remember in books:
the green wind
i would stay up to the early hours of the morning reading obsessively.
the bookworm cowgirl.
i am a long way from home and the horses.
the books still remain, and somehow the dusty trails, the plod of cattle and the sway of horses has become embedded in me. the moments meld and interweave.
i am living the dream she dreamed of on that horse.
she is living the memory i dream of now.
“Spirituality is the sacred center out of which all life comes, including Mondays and Tuesdays and rainy Saturday afternoons in all their mundane and glorious detail… The spiritual journey is the soul’s life commingling with ordinary life.”
~ Christina Baldwin