Fiona Martin

Entry #1

08.04.2016

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I’ve been driving for hours. A McDonald’s burger protests in my stomach. The landscape has been changing this last hour as I close in on Bogong. Rounding a corner in my little city car, I notice the signs warning of impending doom that may occur and wonder: should I look up for falling rocks instead of forward at the winding road?

Bogong Village opens up to me on the left for a brief moment between the trees and I behold its beauty.

My first day finds me overwhelmed. It’s warm, Mid-Summer warm. The surrounds are grand and perspective is skewed with a great man made monolith of concrete and expansive mountain ranges, creating postcard panoramas. This set against delicate faerie dell minutiae, to hunker down on haunches and admire. Kaleidoscopic detail.

A cacophony builds inside my head: live streaming through eyes, ears, mouth, nose, dermis and epidermis, competing to be processed.

I find a quiet place in the sunshine, grabbing a piece of hardware so I look like an artist and decide to sit in this spa of possibility and soak.

I find an old swing that hoikes up pristine memories of childhood; playgrounds full of risk, sunburn, sandwiches wrapped in rainbow grease-proof paper, lemon slices and boundless energy.

As the swing creaks into motion, it sings to me “advance, retreat, advance, retreat” and we sing together on that first afternoon.