Falling in love

I wake to the sound of wind moving through the trees around my home, followed by emergent bird calls – small chirps and in the background the deeper dissonant crow caws. Shall I go for a swim now or later? What an indulgence – summer is here but so far cool mornings, warm days and golden afternoon early evening light. I know the heat is coming but this is idyllic, and I savour every moment. The great eucalyptus that shades my home is shedding great swathes of bark revealing pink trunk beneath – this ‘skin’ curls into long slivers all over my garden and courtyard. I feel reverence as I pick them up - sculptural fragments of the most beautiful colour which I now call bark pink. The light on this tree in the afternoon at this time of year is gorgeous. Now in my third summer, I am observing the seasonal changes of birds, insects and plant life around me. The change into summer clothes, bringing colour and lightness to my body as I feel air moving over skin. My first swim of the season was an effusion of pleasure soaking into my body. I meet familiar beach goers, and we exchange greetings. The sand is white and fine under foot, the horizon wide, stretching endlessly in front of me, broken only by Rottnest Island and sometimes large container ships carrying their goods between here and the rest of the world. I wasn’t particularly a beach girl growing up here, but I always loved the wildness of the ocean. I spent many winter days walking along these beaches – often in solitude. My own young wild self imagining another life lived elsewhere – dancing! And now I have returned with a different perspective on the eternal presence of ocean and wind and sky surrounding me here on this thin strip of limestone coastline. Travelling from Rome to Tuscania a decade ago, the train went along the coast, and I was reminded of this coastline – the same wind-swept shorelines, scrubby growth and slightly desolate railway stations. And as the train sped past a station, the flash of an older man exquisitely dressed, bright pink socks revealed by his elegantly crossed legs. I gasped at the sheer audacity of style I would never see in Australia on a man. Or so I thought! What hubris! On another train ride from Fremantle to Perth I sit opposite an incredibly elegant, well-dressed older man. I silently admire his whole couture ensemble right down to his soft leather handbag slung over his shoulder. This is no everyday pedestrian Aussie, this is someone who loves clothes, textiles and fashion. Someone who dares to be different. I breathe it all in with pleasure. The train stops and as we alight, I tell him I appreciate his entire ensemble, and he surprises me by returning the compliment. Of course he noticed! I no longer remember what I was wearing but I do remember what he was wearing. In our brief exchange he said he was 80 and he always liked to dress well. I admire this. It requires rigour believe me to do this in our casual culture. And once I discovered that Virginia Woolf loved fashion, I no longer felt any shame about my love of clothes, fabrics and beauty. They are to be celebrated in a world that seems to insist on huge quantities of disposable synthetic clothing. As the late, great marvellous Vivienne Westwood said: “Buy less, choose well and make it last.” And then she said: “Whatever you fall in love with … you know … that’s how you’ll do something”. I fell in love with dance, and I am still dancing and making. And every day I ‘fall in love’ with something or someone. Yesterday I alighted from the bus – note all these adventures of the everyday occur on public transport – with a beautiful young man and in one complex road crossing we effortlessly exchange names, story and touch. Frederico and I made human contact – brief exacting perfect!