Melbourne

A pathway along the river leads to where its waters widen into the bay, an armada of small boats tug on mooring lines and beyond, rising up out of a reflected sky, the city sends golden spires high into the evening air. It's more than just a place, a city compounded of asphalt, concrete and plate glass, parklands with trees from countries overseas that read the changing seasons with green, red and yellow. Sprawling suburbs, cafes and coffee, all just a part of a greater whole where I live and is home to me. Not some sugary, thick spill of a patriotism born of a shallow pride is evoked here, no boast of better but a calm, silent sense of connection to the spirit of the soil and what grows here, what is built upon its spread and more, those I love who walk across its breadth. The soul must have a space to house its presence in this world, somewhere to relate to, to grow in, be part of and after being away, to return to and rest. There must be something sacred to nurture in the cradle of its ground, a love that holds back the harm of greed and the elevation of the self. There are other places, sure, equal if not better, some that have more charm or come near, but I am thankful that I draw my breath here.