Not a lot to say this evening but in the interests of giving Lancefield the credit it's due, the crazy noisy racket of planes and cars that marred Friday night is almost all gone now what I can hear is crickets, lots of them, a magpie singing softly to itself, and a single dog barking. There, it's stopped now. The moon is still hidden behind clouds and I am disappointed about that, but otherwise, the evening air out here in the dark paddock is so delicate and seductive that I can almost - almost - understand why people leave the city and come out to live in places like this. I lay I the yard for an hour this afternoon, watching the colours change in the sky and on the inside of my eyelids, and I thought, I don't want to leave here. I felt peaceful. It's a state of mind, of course, but intimately connected to the place. Lancefield is on the way to nowhere,unless you
Consider Puckapunyal to be somewhere, but it used to be the centre of the known world. Turns out the largest of the hills across the plain actually is Mt William, where the first people quarried greenstone for axe heads and met to trade and conduct politics. Sometimes when I think about how badly we white people have fucked everything up I feel that it's for the best that most of this country's ancient centres and sites of power are quiet now. Their time will come again, and soon perhaps. Meanwhile the thought of a shack in a quiet country place is intensely appealing. Home tomorrow.