I have lived here for three years. For three years I've tried to capture the beauty of this place - one of my many "homes" in photographs. Failed, of course. And now it's my second last evening here and it's just that little bit to early to wander along the airport road and capture the dying light as it fades over one of my favourite stretches of land.
Yandi is overlooked by the Three Sisters - Barimunya. Her three hills anchor us in the ever-undulating landscape. They are a landmark from the sky telling us where we are as we fly over; when they hide behind the clouds we know our flight will be delayed or redirected; they are a resting place for the eyes as they hug the sunrise; their glow in a storm tells us there is a fire in the distance. Their closeness to our camp gives me the same cozy, comforted feeling that the mountains of Aosta did. An enveloping landscape.
I wanted to write a long and winding post about Yandi's land. It is so beautiful and has kept me enthralled all the days I've spent here. Every drive to and from work takes you through a valley of gentle slopes, covered in bright green spinifex, purple waving mulla mulla, shining white snow gums, and that burnished, glowing quality of light that early mornings and dusky evenings have. So many sunrises and sunsets that I have paused to admire. So many patterns in the skies. So many gasps of surprise as you round a corner on top a rise and are faced with a canyon. The steady rise and fall of the hills, the skittering of the spinifex pigeons, the rustle of the vegetation, the cacophany of the cockies. The rumble of the passing trains at night, the lights of the mine in the distance, the endless, endless peace that flexes and yawns and settles over the sky, always running beneath the noise and catching at your breath in a meditative sigh.
I wanted to write Yandi, but I don't think I can. It's such a unique place, and while I can always visit the Pilbara, there are places here that have become "mine". The road that wends along to the airport, where I have trudged so many tired steps, drawn so many contented sighs, watched so many shadows chase across the hills, dodged so many snakes and paused for so many minutes of wonderment.
In my last few days here, I am still entrenched in the present here and finding it hard to grasp the thought of never returning.
The people, the friends, the work, the direction I've found here, they all combine to make this a special place and it's going to break my heart to leave. It's been the happiest three years of my life so far.
Goodbye, Yandi.
Yandi is overlooked by the Three Sisters - Barimunya. Her three hills anchor us in the ever-undulating landscape. They are a landmark from the sky telling us where we are as we fly over; when they hide behind the clouds we know our flight will be delayed or redirected; they are a resting place for the eyes as they hug the sunrise; their glow in a storm tells us there is a fire in the distance. Their closeness to our camp gives me the same cozy, comforted feeling that the mountains of Aosta did. An enveloping landscape.
I wanted to write a long and winding post about Yandi's land. It is so beautiful and has kept me enthralled all the days I've spent here. Every drive to and from work takes you through a valley of gentle slopes, covered in bright green spinifex, purple waving mulla mulla, shining white snow gums, and that burnished, glowing quality of light that early mornings and dusky evenings have. So many sunrises and sunsets that I have paused to admire. So many patterns in the skies. So many gasps of surprise as you round a corner on top a rise and are faced with a canyon. The steady rise and fall of the hills, the skittering of the spinifex pigeons, the rustle of the vegetation, the cacophany of the cockies. The rumble of the passing trains at night, the lights of the mine in the distance, the endless, endless peace that flexes and yawns and settles over the sky, always running beneath the noise and catching at your breath in a meditative sigh.
I wanted to write Yandi, but I don't think I can. It's such a unique place, and while I can always visit the Pilbara, there are places here that have become "mine". The road that wends along to the airport, where I have trudged so many tired steps, drawn so many contented sighs, watched so many shadows chase across the hills, dodged so many snakes and paused for so many minutes of wonderment.
In my last few days here, I am still entrenched in the present here and finding it hard to grasp the thought of never returning.
The people, the friends, the work, the direction I've found here, they all combine to make this a special place and it's going to break my heart to leave. It's been the happiest three years of my life so far.
Goodbye, Yandi.
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