The Other Side

It was one of those sleepy afternoons when the high tropical cloud covered the sky like a veil. The gentle murmur of the Indian Ocean added to the soothing effects of the moment. This was one of those rare moments, when having taken time out from the hectic daily routine and come to a full stop, it seemed nothing else mattered but the stillness of the moment. Even the seagulls had nothing to say as they sat on the sand ruffling their feathers. The ocean was as still as a millpond and depending on which way I looked could be anything from the most magnificent emerald green to a glimmering silver that hurt the eyes.

We'd just enjoyed a meal at a restaurant overlooking the sea and were now walking off our excesses. It reminded me of some far off time when it didn’t seem necessary to be somewhere or rushing to meet some elses deadlines or needs. The conversation over the meal had been quite animated and mostly centred around other diners, now we each walked side by side with our own thoughts. People seemed to have caught the mood of the afternoon lazing in the sun or floating in the water waiting for a hint of a wave to ride back to shore.

This afternoon everything seemed clearer, every little detail in the clouds, every person on the beach. Almost as though up until now everything had been seen through a dirty or foggy window and now it was clear. Even the sound of sand scrunching our feet seemed louder. Why I wondered should this be so when the ocean, the beach and the sky were such familiar things. It seemed curious that while it was such a new sensation it had a familiar feeling to it. Then it struck me that this mood and clarity had been a past experience as well. It had been the times of looking out and seeing the rain coming in over the paddocks. The spring afternoons when it had rained and there were still large clouds around, the approach of a tropical depression from the North East in the Summer, waiting for the Albany Doctor on a hot summers evening or the approach of a storm at haymaking.

All of this familiarity brought conflicting emotions of peace at the thought of rain and relief from the dry, excitement at having something else to experience and hope knowing that following the rain the dust would be washed away and the air clean again. How often now do we look out the window silently praying to the overcast sky for another inch of rain, or that there will be no rain at all depending on what we are doing at the time. Looking out the window because as children playing in the rain was a taboo which could lead to all sorts of undesirable things. Later we might have been looking at the approach of a storm standing near the stable paddock gate and someone would suggest not touching the fence or the gate in case lightning struck the fence.

While this might all have been very practical it still brought up conflicting emotions. The most wonderful of all things that came back that afternoon was a memory of a steady winters rain on the iron roof, the crackling of the fire and the delightful smells from the kitchen, which might have been a meal that someone had worked hard to make, maybe fresh bread or even the smell of warm pyjamas.

Sometimes even now something will come to mind, or a particular feeling will make its presence felt, it’s then that the real wealth of country life makes itself known. It’s the rain, the sunrises and sunsets, the Milky Way, the sounds of ewes and lambs, the eternal hope that the next crop will be he best ever. More importantly its the wealth of memories, the dreams and hopes that goes with a special breed of people who live close to Gods Earth.

After all, the faith that has kept the seasons going, both good and bad, the faith that seed sown will yield a harvest are the things we don’t think about, yet they are the core of our existence. I believe we are at the edge of something great, yet because our eyes are too busy looking at the bank balance or the hope of harvest, we may miss the greatest moment of our history.

After all when was the last time you stopped to smell the roses?

Kim