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

later

full moon rise

pagan and christian

side by side

aglow

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

inland

savannah country

open woodland and wide spaces

vistas

acacias

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

Kalkajaka
[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