Friday 9 September 1994

We climbed up into the Narnia quarry and felt like Eve and Adam returned to paradise.

We wandered along the clifftop track, sooty with sand. I picked wild flowers...but didn't touch the orchids. Too precious to pick. Running postman and purple things I don't know the name of.

Emerald parrots and greywhite darting birds kited among thrashing eucalypts.

Baubles of blossom on wattles. Pink heath carillons. The angels that forgot to guard Eden had turned to flaming native cherries. Bracken broke delicate unfurling tender. And windy ways were mottled with shadow and everywhere the wind sang.