I sit on a patch of dirt blanketed by sticks and leaves watching the little black ants scurrying quickly about their business in anticipation of the impending afternoon storm.
The sun slowly breaks through the purple clouds gathering above me and radiates onto my back. I inhale the humid summer air, filled with the sweet scent of eucalypt leaves and casuarina needles and a sense of peace washes over me.
The sounds of the bush are surprisingly loud today, branches creak lightly as the wind whispers through the tall gum trees. Circadas chirp, flies buzz and baby magpies squark relentlessly for their mothers.
I am lost in the moment, present, real, alive for the first time in ages.
Slowly I get up and wander down to the dam, from the waters edge I can see two eastern long necked turtles floating just below the surface scouting for pray as blue winged dragon flies hover above, oblivious to the dangers lurking inches below.
In a nearby tree a family of kookaburras sing out with their jovial laugh, unafraid of the distant rumbling thunder, they are happy, they are free.
Untouched, nature is beautiful; a perfect circle of energy interchange, far removed from the chaotic world of human interference.
The titillations, tribulations, vicissitudes, and oxymoronic cogitations of a very lucky and unfortunate Neuroscientist with Bipolar Disorder
It was almost funny.
Torn. Broken. Writer. “For me, writing is an art of converting feelings to words.”
Read between the lines
The ups and downs of my recovery
On Being Creative, A Mother & Bipolar
Stationery Enthusiast & Mental Wellness Advocate
Speaking Out on the Unspeakable
Creative Writing. Book Reviews. Adult Humour.
NOT ALL WHO SUFFER ARE STRONG
Shattering the Magic Mirror