Paperbark Paradise
There’s a song called “The Song Of The Sea” that, not surprisingly, talks about the sea. It’s slow and hypnotic and mesmerising, rocking, swaying and lilting, and speaks of an indefinable way of being, a place and a time that are neither locational nor temporal. It positions this sensation as being between one thing and another, between one wind direction and another, between water and land, between sky and rock. It is, potentially, the space that holds the membrane between the wet and the dry, where the seagull, the gannet and the tern take their swooping dives and, for a split second, as they scoop up their prey and before they become airborne again, belong neither to one reality or the other, but to both and neither. It is, in other words, Middle Earth. This is the place where we come to play, hang out, socialise, enjoy ourselves, engage with the natural world and, for limited periods of time but repeatedly and consistently, become part of it and commune with it. For us ...