This is a writing prompt from Spiders Group from about a month ago. I just stumbled over the file I saved it in and thought I would share. I guess the “she” in this story is me, because this is how I feel whenever I leave Sydney and travel back to visit my parent’s property in Queensland.
The smell of hot dirt and eucalypts scented the wind, the din of cicadas drumming their drums filled the air. A shadow of a storm haunted the horizon, heralding a welcome end to a hot summer day.
She thought back to a summer long ago, when she had last walked down this meandering, dusty track. She’d had such expectations of the path ahead of her.
She had forgotten how vivid and alive the Australian bush could be, how many shades of grey and brown could herald life. She inhaled deeply, drawing astringent, savoury oxygen into her starved lungs. How clean the air was out here. No smog, no odours, no scents associated with man. Just the scent of eucalypts, dry dust and sweet grass. It was Life, in all its glory. Of course, most people wouldn’t have seen it that way. They didn’t really understand the land. They didn’t understand that verdant green grass was rare, and it was all the more beautiful for it. They didn’t understand how many browns, greens, yellows and greys could make up one dry husk of grass. They didn’t see the beauty in a waving sea of dried grass blades, or understand how the feel of hot dust under one’s bare feet could be so invigorating. She thought back to the dirty streets and faded buildings she had left behind her in the city, took a deep breath of air, and sighed in relief. She was home.