Brooke Forbes

Sunshine hits the back of my hands and reflects into sand-banked fresh water – 

The water hole stares back at me, softly twinkling. 

There’s the smell of forgone bush tucker campfires and the sound of zebra finch nestling into nearby scrubs – darting back and forth, for that ever-lasting drop of hydration. 

There’s a stillness, too, as gums glisten and the red rock almost hides the afternoon sun. 

I’m reminded when I visited the water hole previously – 

Once it was with my parents, showcasing my new surrounds, and we ran into a poetry friend. The town was still somber after a tragedy and this fresh-faced friend dove straight into the water, fully clothed in a red dress and lipstick to match. 

Once I came here with a visitor mourning the passing of her father – so she could reverse the pace of daily life and soak up the peace. 

And once I came here with a new group of friends – forging ties that would coax us through our collective journeys working in Mparntwe. 

So I’ve come to think that maybe, in the stillness, there are healing powers. 

Maybe in the presence of beauty, serenity can be found, if, like a Zebra  finch, we can dip our toes and rehydrate, fill ourselves with tranquility, small and subtle drops of life. 

If like lizards we can soak up the sun – in that season just before it beats down with oppression. 

If like tiny fresh water fish we can zoom under the water’s surface – entering a new layer of chosen voicelessness. 

I will return again – of course – on my search for personal serenity. 

With the gentle knowledge that I can come here – at mercy of the water’s reflection – and receive, with such wonder, replenishing healing powers.