Living life in the city had stolen the poetry language from my mouth. I seem to forget how I used to live and love like a poet. The more I understand the way of this rational world the more I seem to be far from the innocent touch of beauty.
But after few days in Bogong village, after a few walks along the lake path, after a quiet night reading books in the cabin deep in the mountain, after a long sit down looking at all those trees standing and their dancing leaves under the shade of sun that glitters on them. I then start to hear and fall in love with the voice of this mountain, all the talking of every life in this mountain, the voice of wind blowing to dance with the tree leaves, the sound of birds and insects, the river current sings a low voice song and far away sound of kids having fun from the school down below.
All these are gifts. I slowly hear some words of beauty and poetic coming back to me. The grass under my feet gave me a touch of something I has been lost in the crowded city.
I still look for it, poetic words, beauty, childhood memories and fairy. They all there in those trees, under the green moss, on the tip of those yellow everlasting flowers, in the wind that blow onto skin.
I still look for it. I shall remember.