Autumn reflections
I recently took a wander at Curl Curl, along the boardwalk that runs from above the southern end of the beach and skirts around the headland. I love the quality of sunlight in autumn, the way it seems to soften even the hardest lines. The rocks here have also been worn away by the ocean into shelves with strange swirls and fascinating patterns. They are pitted with hollows containing little pools which get filled up as the waves break. When the tide retreats, some of the pools become stranded for a while and that afternoon they were smooth as glass reflecting the blue sky and puffy clouds above.
The contrast between the powerful waves pounding against the rock-platform edges in a flurry of spray and – just a few metres away – the tranquillity of the mirror pools really struck me. It got me thinking about the extremes of life: the times when I can feel ‘on the edge’ and caught up in the drama of it all and the times when I can pull back a bit and be at peace; occasions when I need strong energy and drive like the waves and others when I just need to be still and reflective like the pools.
A small heron-type bird caught my eye. It stalked very slowly and mindfully through the shallow pools, completely focused on its task of finding a juicy morsel or two. Now and then it would stop mid-pace mesmerised by something it had spotted below. Then with lightning speed the head would dive underwater to emerge with a prize in its beak. More contrasts: slow and fast, still and active.
That bird and its environment reminded me of many things. To celebrate life’s contrasts and the ebb and flow of life; the importance of focus and timing; the power of stillness and of speed and of knowing which is needed at any given moment. If it had rushed through the pools at breakneck speed (as many of us rush through life), the heron would probably have gone away hungry. Through focus, patience and appropriate pacing, however, it achieved its goal. I think we have a lot to learn from Nature, don’t you?