Into the gorge I walk, thinking to meditate.
Into the pink hall of rock, with red striations high above.
A river brims from desert plains in flood.
I enter, ready to perform with my mind feats of attunement.
But the gorge is already deep in thought,
And I, along with purple winter blooms and white eucalypts,
Am part of its infinitely wiser musings.
Freya Mathews. Excerpt from ‘World without end’*
