NATURE’S BEST: The warm weekend days for the annual Aroma Festival were as good as it gets, like being a kid again.And the way the sun and sky these past days have called to me,called to us dear reader.

The way from our shelters we were hailed by the promise of a softand blue August sky – how it’s been outside days and all that…

On the weekend gone, let it be recorded that here on the floodplain,here on this soil, the good denizens of the old river-town weresubject to the most gentle and beautiful conspiracy, a magical rusebetween breeze and light and leisure and sky.

And the way there are days that affirm the wonder of living. Daysthat quiver and tremble with the delicate pulse of being alive.

And let it be recorded in the news of the world, in the dispatchesfrom this patch of sky, that on these just gone weekend days, well,tell them we quivered with coloured life …

The way such outside days make for tasting the world. And it wasdown by the river, by the stalls: and people and babies in strollersand on rugs and aromas and knitted things and all that.

And how it was beautiful and nice. And how I was in love with livingand the river and the town again. Like when I was young and freeand barefoot, when we lay in long grass and stared at the sky andcured green-ant bites with dirt and spit and all that.

The way outside days like we just had speak to us morethan money and fame and jobs and stuff. The way they comecalling to us from our childhoods,from our at-home-with-mumdays,from our feeling days…

The way in their shape and shade they promise nothing and give useverything we ever really need, the reward for work andcompromise – give us life and living …

The way on days like them the sun has the power of water, the wayit washes away pain and woe, the way it warms the soil and heartand makes good things grow.

And maybe we pitch a tent and lay down on the river-soaked soil. On some ancient cedar forest floor long gone. And there inour yards on a beautiful outside kinda day, we judder with the forceof life felt through the ground below, and from the distant sunabove.

And on sweet sunshiney days like them we go back out into ourgardens and yards. How in those moments under the tree, in thoseslow-breathing moments beside the geraniums the beat of the worldseems easier understood.

And how I remember a poem that said the force which through agreen fuse drives a flower, drives all our blood. And how I reckonthat’s kinda right and true and all that.

And let it be recorded that onthe days just gone, we were trembling with life.How down here,beside a meandering river, we were living bright and right and true …

And so it goes.Goodnight.

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