Hugh Hayward - Hairless Ape 

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When you live in the bush you experience a quietness and peace that is only comparable to full emersion into water. The white noise and ever present hum of the city makes way for a rhythmic tune, performed by nature.
The music of the forest. 

It is like an orchestra of nicely spaced instruments. Each synchronised and progressive.

Even the magnificent and destructive forces of nature, like fire and lightning happen with a familiar voice.

Unwinding the ear after a lifetime in the city took a while. It is coming up to the end of our second year in Upper Burringbar and I have only just started to notice the forest speaking to me.

It’s like my brain was so used to the saturation, the calmness was unsettling. I had an urge to manifest that unsettled feeling in my surroundings and an urge to fill the empty space. When I couldn’t satisfy that urge, I got anxiety. I always found that once heading our for a long stay in the bush, it would take a couple of days of anxiety to find a breath. A couple of days to scrub the wounds clean and allow for healing.

Now when I come home, it is just as quick as taking a breath; and it feels like a deep breath. A sigh of relief. As I drive down the firetrail to our shouse, I feel the city washing off my back. You need to feel estranged to realise the gratitude of being reunited with your blood. Our DNA is connected to the twigs and the dirt and the mossies and moths. Our distant relatives. It feels like I could never feel alone as long as I have my earth, my home. Eutierria.