Like ships in the night, four dark shadows passed in front of me as I stood silent in the sand looking out to sea. Where they trod, trails of star sparks traced an outline on the wet sand; phosphorescent phytoplankton marking out the leading edge of the last wave before it retreated back to the sea.
The stars above were of the same size. The line below, pure joy to behold.
The four stomping, dancing, goddesses of the night were Emma, Annette, Zanni and Maya; Melbourne visitors spending a few days recovering from an exhilarating “Sense of Place” nature writers’ colloquium held south of Hobart last week.
In the past two weeks six other separate groups of people of 16 adults and four children (painter John Wolseley most likely the best known) spent from two to five days at Windgrove sleeping either in the house, the bus or in a tent. Evening meals were always a joyful mix of tongues. Participatory living at its best.
Then there were the 30 or so day visitors that included twelve students from Cornell University.
After the last cramped carload of people left yesterday morning, I went inside for a quick nap in one of the window seats to recover some of my well spent energy.
What woke me was a complete stranger walking around inside the house. When I asked him why he hadn’t taken his “f……. ” shoes off or knocked, he replied that he was looking for the reception desk for the Windgrove Centre.
Once apologies were exchanged (I felt just as bad for being so grumpy), he turned out to be a lovely man from Portland, Oregon sent to see me by my long time friend, Raymond.
Today I was suppose to drive into Hobart to wash sheets and replenish the pantry, but the sky is blue, the day warm and my mood one of wanting solitude.
Can anyone blame me?