I live on a little mountain. The terrain surrounding my house is quite steep and I enjoy walking down and up its slopes every once in a while. Because my place sits on the crest of the mountain I can wander over either side. The face travailing down from my place offers a dry expanse of gums and low-lying scrub. I frequent this route more regularly than the other. At certain times of the year the air teams with butterflies feeding from the nectar of the mountain. The earth on this side is home to echidnas that scoop up the earth in search of ant mounds. The trees here sometimes sound like they’re screaming out as their trunks come together and come apart. It is a land with a history.

On the opposite side the bush takes on a smoother decline and the mountain rain is preserved from the harsh sun by a deeper, denser rainforest habitat where tree ferns and mosses play around the Olinda Creek. I enjoy visiting this side, particularly in the wet when the forest breathes a freshness, its fragrant offering to this carbon polluted atmosphere.

There’s a face up on my mountain that has some very nice viewing spots. One of these areas is a commercialised viewing place that has been recently updated to include a multi-million dollar restaurant/conference/reception building, landscaped gardens and a nice big fat gate with tolls for parking. As you can probably guess, that spot’s pretty popular with the locals. A little up the road one can find the more natural lookout, known locally as The Rocks and renowned by many young Melbournites for its late night romanticism and dazzling city light scenery. I got up to this spot early in the morning last week to think and bring things before God. Questions. Things that sat deep on my heart. Questions.

It’s good to be here. Sometimes I need to be woken up to the rich earthy palate of colours and the graceful gum trees. Woken up from a state of introspective dwelling. I need to be here more often.