I am following the ephemeral footprints of a lion
It is ahead of me
It went this way
On a northerly breeze I smell the perfume of his mane
If I close my eyes
I can hear its brain
Thinking in broad strokes that leave no tangle
Drop easily
Fall gently
I hunt, but not to capture
Instead
Simply to walk
Where it has been
Courage
Depth
Dignity
Grace
Splendour that spreads like the rising sun at dawn
Alight but not burning
I am hunting a lion
To see how it walks
That I may watch my bare feet
Becoming enveloped by the in-falling trickle of sand
Heat from his still warm paw
Radiating up my spine
Drifting down my shoulder blade
Heat
I know no human that inspires me as much
As the thought of nature morphing, playing, shifting, straying
Into the brow of a lion
Golden eyes filling bright
Watching
Life
Passing
Rising
Again and again
*and it brings me a kind of peace to think out of that space, instead of the insanity of humanity striving for what? Ha. Nothing. I watch the wild kangaroos at dawn in the bottom paddocks, how they turn to face the rising sun, the chorus of birds that only begins, as the sun rises – apart from the Willy Wag tail that could sing at 12am as easily as at dawn.
The whole of nature pauses with bated breath, seeming to sigh as it rises
The sun
And it’s a peaceful ritual, that resets all of us. To walk in the footsteps of beauty, to swim in the sea at dawn, or just to sit in awe. I hope I never lose it.
It is my greatest love.
