White Owl Island Dreaming

Still singing low, the ferrywomen left me at the sandy shores of White Owl Island. I was a bit disoriented, but this improved as the wind slowed and the land was still. I breathed in and out and looked around. Ahead of me was thick scrub. I loosened my cloak and slipped across the sand with light steps.



On closer inspection, I saw that the way was barred by Old Man Banksia and She Oak trees. I gazed at their hardy display in wonder, and remembered. A wild smell of honey came from beyond the scrub. Smiling, I remembered my very distant ancestors. I felt the strange urge to bow and touch the earth, and did so. At once the trees parted to allow me passage.



It soon became evident the wild honey came from a profusion of melaleuca bushes, their bright white flowers sticky with fragrant nectar. From there most things were light, bright, sweet, wild. I explored the land on foot, then, watching for signs on the way to The Great White Owl's Nest.

copyright word and image Monika Roleff 2005.