Where will I find myself?
Perhaps at Evans Lookout
As I gaze into space at the
Vast and tiny landscape.
. . . letting down some of my baggage,
The soft light of afternoon
Hangs over me.

In what spaces of time can I breathe in life?
Perhaps in my kitchen as I measure, stir and mix
To cook ten Sienna cakes.
. . . this quiet, familiar pattern
Lets me live for a moment
In my daughter's smile.

In what quiet places am I possible?
I retreat to the bedroom,
Shut the door on the TV cricket
And pick up pencil and paper.
I create another world
Where something that is both
Me and not-me lives.

Gaze across the landscape,
Chop the nuts, sift the flour,
Close the door and scribble on paper.
I am practising to be me everywhere.