Lal Lal Falls and Yuulong Lavender Farm


Well, we got the usual sunshine and from our cars the day looked bright and great for writing. But the minute we opened our car doors we were subject to a howling gale that wrapped us in icy tentacles and warned us not to open notebooks! We could not start the session around a picnic table as no tables were sheltered from this insistent wind, so we ventured towards the timbered area, stopping at the lookout platform to greet and admire the tumbling waters of Lal Lal Falls. Although the fence on the platform comes up to my chin (being short) I for one was glad the wind was blowing at our faces, not from behind.

Among the trees we were sheltered and began the session by discussing "small stones", a particular style of writing that captures moments of total awareness, particularly when letting nature speak to you. This type of writing was first brought to my attention by Fiona Robyn of Writing Our Way Home website. She and her husband, Kaspalita, run online workshops in mindful writing. In 2011 they set us a challenge: to notice one thing properly every day during January and write it down. The result was a collection of the "small stones" written by over 350 people worldwide, entitled "pay attention: a river of stones". 

There are no rules for writing "small stones", it's all about the process - observing, being fully engaged with what is there right in that moment, translating whatever that is into words.

Here is some of our "work". 



by Lyn Purcell ...

Newborn water dashes itself
on the rocks below,
splitting into infinity.

The roar of water over the edge
pulls me closer and closer.
I am dizzy.
a    
    Wattles send air messages on windy days,
challenging bees to find them.

Drik- drik, drik-drik. The call of a lonely bird 
needing its mate.

If I were a kangaroo,
I would stop here
and eat only the new green grass.
     
     Tired out with living
The old tree falls in favour
Of the next generation.

In the curl of bark
On the woodland floor
A beetle wipes its face.

Warm on my back,
 the spring sun pushes its way
 through the umbrella of eucalypt leaves.

Dead branches arch over me,
Around me, holding me and saying
You are safe.
Stay here a while
                                                                                                                                   Hear the sound of chanting in the wind
The dream-time is all around us.

Sit here and shut up.
It is time to do nothing.


by Jan Hampton ... 

An arrow points upwards

I search the sky


A bench marks where we sat gazing out into the world


Roll on clouds roll on over me


Wind overpowers like a spoilt child diminishing waters voice


Left to nature beauty abounds


Bark sheds revealing more than man ever does


by Jennie Fraine ...

behind us a sweet bird
thrush calling cooo eee

the trees have a lot to say
to the wind - a conversation
thrashing something out

even the hawk
is tossed
across the chasm

the log is warm
trees sing as choir
alto section to my right
bass on the left

Plant Nation (not Plantation)
every log sculpture unique
no two trees the same

how easy to feel
place as sacred 
even as wind blows
hair across my face

"Those people went.
They haven't come back."
We continue writing
in the sun.

the valley darkens
trees lit from within
walkers return -
no greetings this time
what have they seen?

we are walking in the homelands
Bunjil shows us how to navigate
strong winds, changing weather
between bushland and pine plantation

by Nichole and Tyler ... ?

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