This gate is the entrance to a marvellous paddock that features my favourite Moreton Bay Fig tree.
Walk past the tree and there are acres of grass, surrounded by rainforest. It is beautiful on a clear, sunny autumn’s day.
I like to take a picnic blanket and lie down on the tall, soft grass, soak up the sun, and listen to the cicadas and crickets.
I received a little sketch book for my birthday and have been making gradual use of it since. It’s been half a lifetime since I took up a pencil (or a brush for that matter) so this foray into drawing has been a long time coming.
The sketch book came in handy during my recent visits to Jamberoo. I happily wiled away the time sketching in between walks and visits to the Abbey itself. I had forgotten how relaxing it can be. It is a meditation in itself.
In the middle of the paddock stands a Moreton Bay Fig tree. I have been fascinated with this tree ever since my first visit to the Abbey. The tree is magnificent, larger than the trees in the park behind my childhood home, bigger I suspect than the trees in the Royal Botanical Gardens in the city.
Everytime I see it, I gaze in wonder. The tree seems to have a presence of their own. What wisdom could it hold after keeping watch for hundreds of years?
The day was unusually bright for autumn, and I was happy to follow the path into the bush. Here, eucalypts and blackwoods formed a rich canopy that hid a wonderland of dappled sunlight and ferns that carpeted the forest floor.
I breathed in the air, so noticeably fresher than that in Sydney, before ambling down the path. It meandered between trees and bushes, past a gurgling stream that eventually tumbled down a waterfall. Resting on a bench, I contemplated its gentle sound, and those of the forest – the shrill of the cicada, the screech of the cockatoo, the rings of the lyrebird, the laugh of the kookaburra – before continuing on. After a delightful half-an-hour of meandering, the path emerged into a meadow. I stepped into the light…
C’est toi ma lampe, Seigneur.
Mon Dieu éclaire ma ténèbre.
Seigneur, mon Dieu, éclaire ma ténèbre.
Seigneur, mon Dieu, éclaire ma ténèbre.
Your word, O Lord, is a light.
My God, enlighten my darkness.
O Lord, my God, enlighten my darkness.
O Lord, my God, enlighten my darkness.
A return visit to the Abbey… makes me almost local. What a difference a week makes. Whereas last weekend only a handful of trees had ‘turned’, this weekend the avenue was ablaze with beautiful autumn colour.
Pardon me for going overboard with photos, but with autumn leaves so rare in this part of the world (the native trees are evergreen) I feel that a celebration is needed!
I walked along the little rainforest walk almost every day and was fascinated by the ferns that grew beneath the canopy.
I loved delicacy of each vibrant frond and the ancient gnarliness of the trunk.
However, my favourite view was of frond overlaying frond as it created the most arresting effect.
There’s just something about being surrounded by natural beauty that calms my mind and body. On this visit to Jamberoo I was in luck because I got a room with a view. Consequently, during the week I spent a lot of time staring out the window, watching the kookaburras chatter, an echidna forage, and the light play against the giant Moreton Bay fig that patiently stood guard.
But as lovely as the view is, sooner or later I was compelled to explore it, and thankfully there was an abundance of wild and manicured delights to see. Being autumn, the last flourishes of flora were abound, and a walk through the rainforest that encircled the paddock provided my camera with many interesting textural details to capture.
Easter week. A time to slow down in a quiet place, to take stock, to regroup, to re-energise. Most of all, it is a time to enjoy the simple things, like taking a walk along a tree-lined road to admire the change in seasons.
Static and Silence 