"'All my life, my way of loving was to say goodbye.' That’s what the poet Marina Tsvetaeva once wrote. Perhaps it’s also true of the world: its way of loving is to present us with phenomena that are always poised to leave us."

I have been watching things come and go in the world around me, and trying to pin down those phenomena in words. Join me as I ponder that which is fleeting in the bush, and in the universe.

In a Train Carriage, Going Nowhere: (37: Flüchtigkeit)

"And when he fell asleep, it was like the moss had him in its embrace. And the sense he got from his dreams was that the ultra-fine rhyzoids of the moss had spread throughout his brain, that he was being held in place by it, and that he too had squeezed into a mysterious shadowy realm where anything could happen."

I have been looking closely at mosses around the train carriage. Who knew that something so small could prompt so many stories?

In A Train Carriage, Going Nowhere (38: Moss I)

"There are other ways to look at it. You might say that as a body gets burnt, as it turns into wisps of smoke, the atoms of which a human is made get separated, wander off into the atmosphere, change form, and become rearranged so that they link up with other operations in the universe."

I'm living in a train carriage on the edge of the bush, on the verge of a bushfire season. Such circumstances elicit a lot of thoughts and stories about the nature of fire.

In A Train Carriage, Going Nowhere (40: Fire)

I'm a storyteller, writer and bushwalking guide from Tasmania.

New tracks tagged #THE BUSH