Botanic gardens - drain the swamp - order over wildness
The storyteller, a man of the enlightenment who casts his vision of ancient wisdom as savage and blunt, he who can quote fairies, but fails to see the cathedral of the forest, the vast library of song, the countless generations of experience that exists without monolith and finery, a society not of dandys but custodians of milenia. I was enchanted by the Euromyths, fractured verses of celtic songlines.
But the postman tugged my earlobe, and spoke boldly to my southern self, born under the dark emu and mineralised through bare feet that have walked the great south land. Listen, insisted the postman, there is a great woven cloth that wraps your existence, that ties you to all that is here, in plant, in animal, in mineral, in all that is girt by sea.
The postman pulled the tartan thread and the tapestry of here lay vibrating across the land to the far horizon.
- Subject Matter: Lost Landscapes