There is something satisfactory in
returning to a wild place that you know well, a place beyond your
everyday life, yet that is familiar because it holds a piece of your
own history. If you are drawn back to such places, for whatever
reasons, you may find that the combination of their wildness, their
beauty and their familiarity invites you both backwards and forwards
into your life in a mix that is compelling.
Yellowwood is such a place for me, a
place that is within the geographical proximity of my everyday
experience and yet far beyond it. Today the higher ground, everything
above the foot slopes, is hidden in a cloud that has been stripped
away from the plains over which I drove this morning, but still
shrouds these mountains.
