Wild Wines
A short poem on spirit
Gold over planes. Through the vineyard.
Solitary tree hues red bowing to sun and purple sky. Tasmanian spirit runs wild here. Wild like wines. Like wind. Sea breeze breathing life into your shivering bones.
Breathe it in. Beyond the cultivated into the culture.
Notice. Notice the land bares the mark of wisdom keepers that came before.
Where now is your wild? Seek. Trace. Track it down.
Commentary:
One of my favourite Mark Twain quotes: “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”
I spent 2 weeks in Australia for the wedding of a lifelong friend. Tasmania (Lutruwita) pulled me out of the little - albeit paradisical - corner of Bali and broadened my views. Sharpened my mind. Took notice of Aborigine ways. And inhaled fresh air into my heart in a way only new destinations can.
When did you last feel truly alive?
Nice. Good message, too. Track down your wild. Keep doing that.