journey to quinkan country

on the peninsula development road  
traveling to find the quinkans
travelling to find ourselves 

"The only journey is the one within."
Rainer Maria Rilke

 setting out from Yarrabah five days before
finding Mossman at sunset/moonrise
the church lights glowing bright 
with the confidence of faith
as the daylight faded

full moon rise 
 pagan and christian 
side by side 

mount molloy
ruins bringing forth new life 
nature quietly triumphant
the man made slowly acquiesces 

 in a suburban backyard 
jurassic encounters

 Cape Tribulation
an unplanned diversion
 something would have felt unfinished 
we crossed the wooden bridge

and found ourselves immersed 
in a thick sea of green green green
sea thick 
see sick

life so dense it overwhelmed the senses
and choked horizons
picturesque beaches bought welcome respite 
for too many

we rose early 
scrambled for the junction
then made for Cooktown 

savannah country
open woodland and wide spaces
grey-green of eucalypt leaf and branches - lilac shimmer
yellow-orange grasses stretch on forever
mountains granite capped
geology exposed

here we began to find
what we did not know we were searching for

[Black Mountain]
story place for Kuku Yalanji
gateway to Cook's Town
an apt point of entry
through the bare black stones
that swallow the sun
cross the threshold that takes you deeper
beyond time

a boat wrecked by a reef
'nursed into a river mouth'
just over there
you can almost see it
and more - here
 a place so unmolested by time
you can almost see
the land before the ship man came to shore

back in time further still 
traveling west 
Qunikan country
the sky opens wide and fills  
with the longed for familiar caw 
of red tailed black cockatoos

'Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again'

Caliban - The Tempest - William Shakespeare 

back to the dreaming time 
fragments of old selves tucked between rocks
rocks like old friends 
the new and yet so familiar
split rock - flying fox - tall spirits
 fresh to this country
we have returned to ourselves

“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”

Matsuo Basho