Welcome to British Bliss. I’m Chris, and it’s time to soften the day, slow the breath, and drift into sleep.
Water Over Stones
The high country lay in long, slanting light, ridge after ridge fading into a warm blue haze. Heat still held in the air, softened now, and the gold of the lowering sun rested on the ranges the way it rests on things at the slow end of a summer day. Among them rose Mount Stirling, its broad flanks dark with forest, its upper slopes open and pale with grass gone the colour of straw.
On those slopes the snow gum woodland stood easy in the warmth. The trees grew well apart, their canopies a soft silver-green that moved in the breeze with a low, continuous wash, rising and falling like something breathing. Beneath that sound the cicadas kept their steady pulse, woven so evenly through the afternoon that it belonged to the stillness rather than disturbing it.
Between the trees the light came down in long amber reaches, laying gentle shadows across the grass. The trunks were smooth and weathered, streaked in cream and grey and honey, and here and there long ribbons of shed bark hung loose or lay curled at their roots. Grass seeds drifted where the light caught them.
The woodland thinned gradually upward, the trunks spacing wider, the grass growing softer and more open between them, until a low fence of grey timber ran quietly through the trees. In the fence stood a simple rail gap, its old wood weathered smooth and warm in the low gold light.
Through the gap the ground opened into a wide grassy clearing, and Louise led Dusty into it, the low sun resting on her shoulders. An old timber hut stood at the clearing's edge, its walls weathered to soft grey, the late gold sliding slowly down them. Beside it a small rail yard held the last of the day's heat in its wood, and long ribbons of shed bark had caught along the top rail, pale and curling, stirring a little when the breeze came through.
Dusty walked quietly at her shoulder, his hooves falling soft in the grass. She stopped him near the yard and ran a hand down his warm neck, and he stood easy, ears loose, his breath slow and even. She checked the girth, the leather smooth and sun-warmed under her fingers, and let the stirrup down against his side.
Around them the clearing lay open and still. The snowgrass grew thick and pale, scattered with the small white stars of alpine daisies, and the tree line on the far side stood soft in the lowering light. The cicadas carried on their steady pulse from the woodland behind.
Louise swung up into the saddle, settling into its familiar creak, and Dusty moved off at an easy walk without needing to be asked. His rhythm came up through her, gentle and swinging, and she let her hands rest low. The hut slipped slowly behind them. Ahead, the grass ran on towards the far trees.
Beyond the tree line the land opened into a broad snowgrass plain, and Dusty carried her out onto it at his easy, swinging walk. A soft grassy track ran ahead through the pale gold, worn gentle by old use, and the plain spread wide on either side, level and open under the lowering sun.
The snowgrass lay pale and dry to either side, and through it drifted long sweeps of white alpine daisies, their small faces still and bright in the amber light. Where the track passed close, grasshoppers rose ahead of Dusty's hooves in little arcs and settled again into the grass, rose and settled. Louise rode loose and easy, her body moving with his rhythm, the sun warm on her back.
Snow gums rimmed the plain all around, standing in their well-spaced way, their pale streaked trunks catching the low light along the eastern edge. Beyond them the further ridges lay soft and blue, one behind another, fading into the summer haze. The breeze came across the ground in slow passes, bending the grass in long travelling waves, and each time it reached her it brought the warm smell of eucalyptus and dry grass.
The shadows were lengthening now, stretching gently eastward from every tussock and tree, and the gold of the light had deepened towards amber. Dusty's shadow moved along beside them, sliding smoothly over the grass. His ears swung softly with his stride. Now and then he blew out a slow breath, and the sound folded into the hush of the plain.
Away at the plain's lower edge, a thin line of brighter light caught among the grass, glinting where a small creek made its quiet way along the ground. The track bent gradually towards it, and Louise let Dusty follow the bend, his walk steady and even beneath her, hoof-falls soft in the snowgrass. The daisies drifted past in their pale sweeps. The cicadas' pulse had thinned behind them, and the plain's own quiet came forward, wide and settled.
Ahead, the level ground began to gather gently downward, and the trees drew in on either side where the creek line left the plain.
The track eased down into the trees, and the woodland closed gently around them, a wide grassy aisle descending beside the creek. The ground was soft underfoot, and Dusty's walk slowed a little as the slope took them, his hooves falling quiet in the deep grass.
The light in here came low and broken, slipping between the trunks in soft amber pieces. The trees stood close enough now that their bark passed at shoulder height, smooth and cool-looking, streaked in cream and grey and honey, the long ribbons hanging loose where they had begun to peel. Louise let her eyes rest on them as they drifted by, one pale trunk and then another, each much like the last.
The creek ran somewhere below on her left, hidden and then glimpsed, a small dark gleam among the grass, and its sound had come up to meet them, a low murmuring under everything, steady and unhurried. The air was cooler here. It pooled in the shaded reaches, soft against her arms, carrying the smell of eucalyptus and damp earth, and the day's warmth only found her now in slow passing patches where the light came through.
Dusty's rhythm had settled slower still, an easy amble, his head lowering, his mane lifting faintly when the air moved. The saddle creaked its small familiar creak beneath her. She rode with her hands low and her shoulders loose, the sway of him gentle and even, and the trees went by without hurry, their edges softening as the dusk gathered between them.
The gleam of the creek came and went. The murmur stayed. The amber light thinned gradually into something dimmer and bluer, and the trunks grew paler against it, holding the last of the day in their smooth streaked wood.
The slope was easing now, the ground levelling gently underfoot, and ahead the trees had begun to draw apart around a soft darkness of grass, the creek's sound slowing and deepening as it went.
There the ground settled into a sheltered hollow, a grassy bank running gently down to where the water gathered into a still, spring-fed pool. Old snow gums stood over it, their pale trunks dim now in the gathering dusk, and the grass lay deep and soft across the bank. Dusty came to a gentle halt, and Louise sat a moment in the quiet, the pool holding the last faint light of the sky.
She swung down slowly, her boots sinking into cool grass. The saddle came off with its soft creak and she set it on the bank, laid the blanket beside it, and slipped the bridle over Dusty's ears. He stood a moment, warm and easy under her hand, then moved off a few steps and lowered his head to graze. Its gentle rhythm began, slow and even, and settled into the hollow like something that had always been there.
Louise spread her blanket in the deep grass and eased herself down against the saddle. The leather still held a little of the day's warmth. The grass was cool where her hands rested in it, and the air lay soft on her face, carrying the smell of water and damp earth.
Above her the snow gums had gone dim, their streaked trunks fading pale into the dusk, their leaves a slow dark wash overhead. The first stars were coming through, small and blurred, more felt than seen. Dusty grazed somewhere near, the gentle sound of it drifting closer and further, closer and further.
The warmth of the blanket gathered around her. Her body settled deeper against the saddle, heavy and easy, and the hollow softened at its edges, the trees and the bank and the pale glimmer of the pool loosening into the dark. The grazing drifted. The stars blurred and swam.
Sounds came and went without shape now, soft and far, the leaves somewhere, Dusty somewhere, all of it thinning, settling, sinking into the one sound that remained, low and steady beneath everything: the murmur of water moving over stones, slow and even, on and on, water over stones, going quietly on in the dark.
The murmur goes on, low and even, and slowly it begins to shine. The sound widens, loosens from its stones, until it is a stream of starlight flowing through dark grass, water and light no longer separate, moving slow and silver through a wide night grassland.
Low in the grass, soft points of light rest everywhere, small white faces open to the dark, stars come down to settle among the tussocks, and there is no telling which belong to the ground and which to the sky. Above the stream, long pale ribbons of light drift loose on the air, curling like shed bark, unwinding slowly as they rise.
At the water's edge a pale horse grazes, his shape soft at the borders, the slow rhythm folded into the murmur of the flowing light. He drifts along the bank, dim and easy, and the stream slides on past him, silver and calm.
The grassland widens without end. The stream broadens and slows, spreading its shine thinner across the dark, and the ribbons rise higher, growing fainter as they go. The low stars and the high stars drift towards one another until ground and sky hold the same soft scattering, and no line divides them.
The horse loosens gently into the pale drift, the stream's flow eases into a single slow breath of light, out and in, dimming softly, evenly, the murmur sinking beneath it, the light settling lower, and lower, into the quiet, into the dark.
