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It’s a blustery afternoon, with intermittent gusts of rain. The light is grey silver and failing rapidly. Clouds are moving around, exposing patches of blue. Moldering grape leaves, cupped, damp, and resistant, lift up slightly and resettle as the wind sends them turning in slow motion somersaults through the naked vines. I’m serenaded by silvereyes in the windswept Marris.

I fill my bucket with fresh water and start to swirl, placing dark ball of 500 into the vortex. The cold water is bracing. I focus and slip into a meditation of vortex, chaos, vortex. My breath quiets.

The silvereyes sing to the coming night. Looking up I see white underside of leaves resisting great wind gusts.  Veils of rain shift across the vines, followed by long silences. Surf pounds in the distance, occasionally sounding surprisingly near. The formula starts to change - the water starts to slip past itself. Magic.

With darkness falling, a few white tailed black cockatoos weave in overhead, squawking as they settle in to their roosts in the high branches. The light is just about gone as I begin to brush the formula into the vines. It’s wilding up now and I'm singing in the rain, singing in the wind.

It’s the time of the descending moon. Saturn is in opposition. Moisture is everywhere. The earth is breathing.  Gratitude is in my heart.

I make note of the weeds infiltrating the vines as I make the rounds. In a few months we'll be pruning...

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