Invisible Fields

There's an amazing album by an Irish guy, it's called Invisible Fields.

I was thinking about how when we look at a place, no matter what perspective we have on it, and how much information we can take in about it visually, it is rarely possible to see the emotion or relationship/s of the place.

This is one of those intriguing mysteries about Aboriginal culture and knowledge. The land tells stories - it speaks and remembers - but not to me. Despite learning about geology and erosion and ecology and all those other names we have for slithers of the whole, and despite a yearning so strong it pulls my chest open, I can't hear the song.

So today, walking and looking at the bruised horizon and hearing the ground breathing in the heat, I couldn't help but wonder what was happening around me that I was oblivious too. I thought about the roos that feed these flats and the stones crumbling, and the eagle that nests on the mountain. None of them can know that there's miners on their way here to gouge out the hard stones and sell them for roads. What invisible fields were being trampled today?

Invisible fields of meaning and of history. I know they're there - my shoes were dusty.