2005-11-21 - 8:07 p.m.
We drove up to the Sunshine Coast on the weekend, and I spent an afternoon lying on the grass beside a cricket field, alternately reading about Cassandra and the Trojan war and sketching with some oil pastel crayons.
After growing stiff from reading, I climbed a small poinciana tree, and settled myself in two low slung branches. I can see why adults don't climb trees often - you are heavier and stiffer in your adult body, and climbing about becomes more difficult. I can remember so clearly what it was like to climb trees when I was fifteen and younger, and it was strange having it feel so different.
Sitting in a tree felt exactly the same, though. Leaves brushing against your head, branches reaching up against your back, and the wind creaking and knocking the thinner branches above your head. The perfect spot for solitude, and listening to the sounds of the world around you. I think we need to ignore our earthbound bodies, and climb trees more often (if we can find friendly ones with low lying branches for easy clambering, that is). Or at least, I need to. I hesitate to prescribe to anyone else.
I have a blister on my hand from bottling beer yesterday. I don't actually mind this, apart from being a little disappointed at the softness of my hands. (I have this thing about being tough, which is a useless little point of pride. I persist with it though.)
I found that I quite liked taking the bottles of beer, screwing the caps on, and turning them four times before packing them into a carton. I like activities that remind me of self-sufficiency - making bread, jam, mayonaisse, beer. Items that can be bottled and stored away are particularly satisfying, even if I'm never going to consume them, as is true in the case of the beer. However, I know it will rapidly disappear into other appreciative stomachs, presuming that our brewing process is successful, of course. The thought makes me very content.
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