You sit there, listening to the rustling of the cows as they graze in the long grass. The kookaburras laughing merrily somewhere in the distance. The gum trees swaying in the breeze. The bright red and blue rosellas nibbling the apples on the tree.
This is Australia.
The sky is a powder blue, with white fluffy clouds. The sun is shining, but it’s not too hot. The air is scented with the smell of roses, apple blossoms and that distinct but somewhat indescribable smell of rural countryside.
Orange and black butterflies take flight as you stroll through the grass, the grasshoppers rustling underfoot, jumping as you near.
This is the Snowy Mountains.
It’s nearing dusk and a small mob of kangaroos are perched on the top of the hill, their ears flicking back and forth. They’re wondering whether it’s safe to come down into the long grass to feed. They make their way down slowly, cautiously. The big fella of the mob is leading the way.
This is home.
In the distance, the colour of the sky is changing from the powder blue that’s overhead. Rain is coming and it will be welcomed with open arms.
The clouds gather, darkening the sky and the rain begins to pelt heavily on the tin roof. The water tank is already overflowing as the rain begins to ease.
The clouds begin to clear, giving way to last few moments of the spectacular sunset of orange and red, the colours changing and shifting as the sun finally dips behind the hills.
Soon, night is upon us, the dark sky speckled brilliantly with the brightest stars imaginable. The night is quiet and calm, a slight breeze raises the hairs on your arms, but it’s not too cold yet.
You take a moment, to reflect on the day. The things you saw and did, the people you spoke with, the chores completed. The smiles on the children’s faces as they played outside, their contagious moments of excitement as they marvelled in the beauty of nature, the animals in the fields.
Things are slower here, but not achingly so. There was never a moment of boredom, but also not a moment when you felt life was going by so fast that you struggled to try and keep up.
You actually stopped and smelled the roses.
You think to yourself, how can I capture these moments? How can I make them last?
© Katherine A. Kovács and The Writer Within, (2013-2018). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovács and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content