I cannot imagine deeper luxury. The bush does not buy or sell, it is unconcerned with persuasion altogether. Its content is universal, and outside usual notions of scale and time, its realities are often subtle and too delicate to be discerned from within descriptions generated by our history, or from our present for that matter. Here there is an almost automatic relationship with potential. Sounds have distinct origins, discreet positions in space.
Cycles are continuous and rich.
Flowers turn into gumnuts. And always the space. It's like trying to explain the connection between breathing and being alive. The thing I like about this place is its transparency. Granite carved round with millions of years, endless layers of adaptation, antique enough for principles themselves to lie revealed on the land.