intrinsic connection

The sound of the lawn mower breaking the natural silence.

A warm breeze gently passing through the car window.

Seat reclined, I close my eyes in the afternoon sun,

taking a moment to reflect on this surreal moment...

in my birth town of Mackay.

Known only to be the place where my Granny lives and my dad has his first pharmacy,

it's never really held much significance or meaning to me.

But this trip is different.

A year has passed since seeing my shrinking comical Gran,

and although it's exciting - there is something unique this time.

My Dad and I sit across the table eating lunch,

passing sideway glances at each other when we acknowledge our common quirky ways...

three generations on.

A father and daughter road trip intrigues me as we head off in a direction unknown.

Arriving at Esplenade Road, I see my parents first house -

the waterfront shack where as a babe I once crawled.

Stories of sailing on the water, beers on the porch and purple furniture creates images of a family that once was long ago.

I walk along the dunes, taking in the smell of mangroves and the sea,

Slade point now a place of family and memories.

We head off in another direction and I am baffled where could be next.

Up a narrow drive and heading towards what looks like green pastures,

I realise it is a resting place for those passed on.

We walk in silence up through the headstones and plaques,

till we come to one I recognise.

Although only 9 when Grandad passed away,

stories about frogs, smoko and a charming smile are still present.

Touched to be there and bringing on emotion from both of us,

we chat about life when he was with us -

and the gap that is clearly still there for dad with him gone.

Driving down the main street, dad talks about his business.

It took time away from us kids growing up,

yet has provided a future for us and a legacy for him.

From nothing to something, he reminds me that anything is possible.

The title of a 'teacher' not restrictive, but rather a platform for future growth.

We arrive back home and my aunty with her daughter are there,

another generation who I am intrinsically linked to and similar in so many ways.

We eat dinner and talk about 'the daily news' with my 5 year old cousin,

it is so lovely to be here.

In one room, so many stories - my history and my family.

A trip like no other, a reconnection with myself...

after time away in London, so badly needed and deserved.

winter war

they walk with the most gracious ease, ignoring the pelting rain.

their suit pants remain dry, hiding under their shelter at just the right angle.

they keep up the pace with the rest of the crowd, oblivious to the chaos around them.

their umbrella's quickly put down through the tunnel, and popped up outdoors;

this is a regular day for them.

i stand on the platform, saturated from head to toe.

my umbrella flaps about the wind, completely unproductive to cover me from the rain.

my boots are soaked through, clearly not compliant with the 'waterproof' label I bought them for.

i poke people in the arm whilst trying to put down my umbrella

and manage to get caught in it trying to put it up.

i look like a moron incapable of dealing with this hideous weather,

clearly not accustomed to a cyclone every morning.

i laugh and squeal like a child, wanting to jump in the puddles that line the 'non guttered' roads.

it's mental and constant - the usual weather pattern of london winter.

i am a novice and that's ok...because I know that this time next week,

i'll be in Australian sunshine again.

attention to detail

it feels like so long ago since i last saw your face.

and although i think about you often, i am beginning to forget the important things.

once upon a time, you were such a presence in my life;

your swagger towards the group, feet slight turned in.

your brimming smile, almost too big to concentrate.

your hairiness - everywhere, that we often used to joke about, yet you were so proud of.

your contradictory laugh, an unexpected giggle compared to the 'manly man' you were.

the way you would protect us girls, giving advice on men and dating when we couldn't understand the way they worked.

the reassurance you would give me that I would find somebody else who would appreciate me for who I was.

your drinking binges at my house, often ending in passing out in some mysterious location we would never know about.

until the next morning.... when we would realise you were curled up somewhere random; a sauner, under the bunk beds, behind the couch... in the cupboard. what i would give to find you somewhere odd again.

the years are rolling by, and i can't help but think where you would be right now.

we are all scattered around the world, different stages in our lives.

babies and husbands for some, travelling for others, living life by the surf or the city...

and you remain that constant age, stationary in our memories.

time makes them fade however, and now i would give anything for just five minutes again.

i need to refresh them and remind myself of the important details, the things that i never want to forget...

yet seem to be because of - what i'm not sure.

so i think of you today, as i do every other day, and remember that last time.

your swagger and your giggle, your hesitant cuddle goodbye...

i replay them, paying extra attention to detail, hoping for them to be stronger next year.

A vineyard in Prague

The sun peaks through the trees, turning the leaves of the vines a translucent shade of green.

The castle walls and cathedral a lurking shadow over the grounds,

and yet holds some sort of majestic presence.

I sit here, closing my eyes and soaking in the sunshine...

a glass of local wine the only thing that is bringing me out of my travelling trance.

The castle grounds overlook the city and I sit in awe of the terracotta coloured rooftops.

Their sophisticated architecture seems surreal, too perfect for a town to exist within.

I could sit here for hours watching the stillness of the town and listening to the Italians prattling beside me.

'Allora' they say, and I immediately grin.

Unfortunately, the Czech dialect is completely uninterpretable to me,

so the Italian that I can vaguely understand reminds me that I am somewhere foreign.

The sun gradually descends, as do the tourists heading back to their hotel rooms.

I stay a little longer, uninhibited by time or place, and have another glass of wine.

I drink in every moment, the castle vineyard too magnetic to want to leave.

A shared hidden moment.

She stands close to him,

supported by his strong embrace.

He barely lets her beyond his reach,

fear of losing her for just mere seconds...

an unfathomable concept.

He whispers in her ear and she smiles,

nodding in reassurance.

He gently kisses her cheek and neck;

suggesting more than just an afternoon cuddle.

This goes on for minutes and they are oblivious to those around them.

Together, they are in their own intertwined world.

His hands caress her hair and work their way to her waist,

pulling her in closer so can feel him.

It's a private moment, yet I can't help but stare -

hungry for it myself and trying to remember what it's like.

Delicious. Intense. Desperate. Devine. Passionate. Longing.

The list of adjectives are endless...

how many ways to describe the excitement of intimacy and knowing...

dreaming about everything that comes after that secret kiss.

indulgence

I always indulge on my first night in a foreign land.

It's like a congratulatory dinner to myself for doing it on my own.

So despite actually knowing that I am getting ripped off,

or not necessarily the best of quality...

I do it regardless.

I allow the locals to take advantage of my innocent gaze;

opening my wallet to their greedy fingertips.

But in exchange, I allow myself to sit in the middle of the Old Town in Prague,

amongst the centre of it all, and watch the world go by.

Naturally, people gawk and smile sympathetically at the women sitting alone in the window.

She sits there,

in this magical place, drinking wine on her own and they pity me.

Yet I am the one who looks sympathetically at them.

Stressed about the price of food and in a potentially strained situation,

I am free from cumbersome situations.

Free to stay... indulge.

Eat and drink - do whatever I want.

And you know what?

It is truly worth ever over priced penny!

The Package

The time in between is plaguing my thoughts,

and now my eyes scan down.

The bulk, the look...

the zip or not?

Is it possible to think this way?

My tour guide does nothing to suppress the craving -

allusions of being well endowed makes me less than interested in the history he is trying to teach me.

He jokes about taking phone numbers instead of tips,

and I can't help but wanting to suggest something else.

A mixed dorm.... a terrible idea.

I now no longer really care.

Once a face, or a personality...

now just a glance at the package and I am miles away.

Driven mad by my own imagination.

Bearing Battles

The feeling confusing, of mixed affection and fear.

The excitement of the unknown, of a land so foreign to me.

Yet when here, where I am again alone and english not a certainty,

I wander around aimlessly unsure of where to start.

How to order a meal in another language?

Navigating my way through a city riddled with tourist traps and unexplored passages...

How to find my way back to the hostel without getting terribly lost?

These thoughts are constant.

Most importantly, how to feel excited about venturing out on my own,

sharing the experience with no one but myself, when I just love chatting so much?

Finding my bearings takes only a short while, but I still feel cautious and apprehensive.

Such a muddle of thoughts, I endeavour to not spent another second thinking about it.

I know myself, and what I am capable of...

just need to find the switch.

From survival in a city - to enjoying the city solo.

Market Square Magic

So I explored today, rain seeping into my withered leathered boots.

Two hostel stops for a sock change and hoping to meet another single traveller to tag along with, I spent the day on my own.

Now familiar with the old town,

I find myself in my room wondering what to do next.

The Market Square bustles before me and the lights slowly twinkle on.

I achieved my goal today, booking my sleeper train to Prague...

but I am thinking... now what? It's 9:30pm, and I am at a loss as to how to occupy the time before I can legitimately go to sleep.

Strolling into a bar and trying Poland's finest vodka seems like an alluring idea,

yet a little odd at the same time. I'm sure alcoholism starts this way?!

Flashes from tourists cameras are seen in the distance,

and I am taken away from that idea.

I simply smile at the beauty of this little place.

Get amongst it Deanna,

go and wander and you are bound to find something.

Even if you don't understand a word they are saying;

you've got your book, your writing, a potential vodka cocktail and you are in Krakow -

so it doesn't matter if your doing it solo anyway.