Over the soft green valleys, my eyes focus to infinity. The Sun shines between two downpours and seems to brighten up scintillating dew on the outback grass. My sight owns back the horizon and hops from masterpiece to masterpiece; each and everyone different, each and everyone unique.
They attract me and awaken me, I marvel at them as they remind me the need to celebrate life. These natural works of art are like women to me. Women in the splendour of their various shapes, each one more magnificent then the other in their uniqueness. They are long and tall, short and round, some have a tiny waist and hips shaped like hills and others stun us with their round buttocks. Some of them even look pregnant. But, without exception, they all raise their arms to the sky, as to invite us to dance, to celebrate life in its diversity. During this month hosting the International Women’s day, seeing this nature demonstration, I reiterate my wish to one day see societies where women feel good about themselves, whatever curves they have.
I’m describing to you my quite romanticized vision of Bottle Trees, similar to baobabs, growing alongside deserted roads of Central Queensland. Just looking at them, I was kinking in the car because I wanted so much to join them in their round dance. After arriving in villages, often in the middle of who knows where, where only a few people lived, I would stretch my legs, helping Marc to set up a makeshift camp for the night.
On a beautiful golden and quiet afternoon, I was startled to see a small man coming straight from the woods, where we thought only wallabies, kangaroos and wombats lived. He was walking with a decisive but jagged step, his blue eyes riveted on Marc who was getting ready to become a bush mechanic for the day. Richard came to Australia in 1959 and never went back to Poland, his native country. However, he once built his own big sailboat in Sydney bay and went to live in Papua New Guinea and in Indonesia for about 10 years. In the sixties, islands were still paradises almost untouched by western imprinting. Through his old photos, we saw tribes dancing and young girls posing, a mischievous smile at the corner of their mouths, dedicated of course to our Polish-Australian nomad. In the course of a morning, Richard shared with us his 73 years of life, with a heart-warming simplicity, while the rain chilled the continent once again. Sitting surrounded by his knick-knacks (or Tchotchkes as the Polish say), hoarded during his 20 years lost in the Bush, in his mouldy-smelling house, we gave him company like he rarely gets. While proudly showing us the fruit trees and gardens he planted, Richard said: « I like seeing things grow ». Well, with what I learned about him in the course of that morning, I’m sure he would have been a good grandpa.
See HIS view
See His and Hers Pictures
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