Man’s root condition is to stand babbling in terror on the precipice of an abyss into which he cannot see, and into which he knows he eventually and inevitably must leap. That he directs whatever intellect he has to finding palliative ontology and an explanatory theology to ameliorate his condition is small wonder. The chief difficulty is that, as far as I know, God has remained intractably silent on those subjects for all these many centuries. That said, I am told by religious friends that God does indeed speak to us, but that His lectures are extremely difficult to comprehend. However, I know of no reason a priori that God wouldn’t be just as good a lecturer as I am, and so I am left with my original confusions. Perchance it is that God’s assistant professors--the prophets and the Popes--missed a lot of classes during their own graduate days and then necessarily went forth into the great lecture halls of the world proclaiming faulty theory?

Only when someone offers a willingness to put to sword and flame someone else who doesn’t agree with his religious views do I get really uncomfortable. I also once wrote that to kill a man for a political reason is to insult humanity and to kill a man for a religious reason is to insult God. Both are mortal sins, there are those guilty by military order of the former and I can only hope, if the Christians have the right of it, St. Peter understands military law as well as the Pope claims to understand God’s law. St. Peter may be a corporal, for gatekeeping is the level of duty they get in the American army. If he is in fact a corporal he will be familiar with Article 99, Manual for Courts-Martial, United States 1951, para. 8 thereof, which deems it a death-penalty crime to fail do one’s utmost to "encounter, engage, capture, or destroy" enemy personnel, and, if not exonerated, should be able to take a plea in mitigation and get off with less than a Heavenly firing squad. I can say in passing that the "encounter" aspect is easily acquitted, since one rarely can avoid it, and the enemy usually "engages" relieving one of that burden. The capture or destroy part is the rub, and while "destroy" may be immoral, "capture" is mortally dangerous unless the enemy is willing to go along with it.

I find it difficult to put my thoughts into words partly because the exact words to describe my feelings are hard to find. Death might be one of the two most natural things in the world; but nothing will ever set it straight in my mind or make it fully understandable. I might worry about death, I might laugh about it; I might ignore it or forget all about it, but it’s always there, sometimes visible in our televised news, sometimes not. I see it but I understand that I cannot do anything about it. I’ve developed a protective sort of shield through which I am offered an opaque view of death. Death is out there, just beyond reach, just outside the shield, a menacing shadow, a shape without a face. I’ve come to an arrangement with it, a sort of agreement or perhaps a stand-off. Through a sense of fatalism or familiarity I’ve become use to it. I hate it but I accept it. Death is far more than mysterious or worrisome. It’s panicky, frightening, sometimes terrifying. Facing it is unimaginable and there are times when I am upset at the death portrayed across our screens on a nightly basis but nothing surprises me any more and I accept life for what it is. We live to die, hopefully in old age. Perhaps, that’s the ultimate reality, when you’re forced to come to terms with the most brutal kind of realism.

For me life and death flow together as being one and the same. I've come to understand that death stalks us constantly and eventually will claim us all. The one thing we can be sure of is that we are bound to die. For most people life is based on the assumption that they will live to an old age and they avoid the thought of death. They believe they have time to spare and their lives lack urgency and intensity. They accept life around them without really looking at life itself and what it holds. I accept that one day I will die and that day could be today. Having come close to death I look upon life as being beautiful because for me tomorrow may not exist. I accept it, but my acceptance does not stop me living from day to day and appreciating all that life holds in my own world. I feel no grip of emotion, only an acceptance, a resignation, a sense of helplessness for whatever happens, I know that one day I will die. I suspect I've come to terms with my own death and therefore I live fully every instant of life.

The only thing constant in the universe is change, and boundaries do not exist because atoms are always being exchanged around us. It’s amazing to realise at this very moment, that some of the atoms as I type on this keyboard are trading off with some of the atoms in my fingers. The atoms that make up my flesh and bone leave to become everybody else’s flesh and bone and are in turn replaced from other sources. I begin to wonder if we mirror the universe – birth, death and renewal – the cycle of time - the cycle of the universe itself. At its edge an unfolding universe without the factoring of life. There’s no light, just total darkness. Blackness beyond absence where life will begin anew in the primeval stew as it collapses in upon itself – to become a never ending spiral – of beginning and ending and beginning again. An interesting theory, eh!

I have watched with horror of what is happening in Palestine and Israel. I perceive the pointlessness of it all, the random killing, the certainty of death and the futility and stupidity of it all. I sometimes wish for silence in a world, which is forever filled with an eternal cacophony of noise. If only the world were a better place and men behaved with humanity. Why is there such a great chasm that divides us from one another and no matter however hard we try why are we beyond helping one another?

I look and think where’s the goodness in this world and if it is there why doesn’t it reveal itself? If it were a slightly better place or its pressures and prejudices didn’t drive people apart perhaps there would be less dreadful suffering. I desperately try to cling to my beliefs in the hope that the world will find surcease from the rage that consistently gnaws at its very core. If I can’t believe then where’s the hope? I ask myself if there’s no hope where will it lead? The cruel and malicious indifference that we confront has a human face and soul. Will we stare into the faces of the dead and recognise that we’ve created the dead face of the world?

The suicide bombers have led to the death of so many innocent Israelis and the Israeli retaliation has lead to the death of so many innocent Palestinians. What has it achieved but further hatred and bitterness, grief and hopelessness where they find themselves locked in by reaction and counter reaction. Both the Israelis and Palestinians are desperate people and desperate people will continue to strike out blindly in their rage.

Do the Israelis and Palestinians have a general aversion to peace, which is leading to avoidance? Fear, ignorance and prejudice are very hard to overcome. Too many unsatisfied needs remain and tensions are at boiling point . Nothing seems to work nor will anything solve the remaining problems whilst the Israelis and Palestinians remain bloody-minded and recalcitrant. To have a chance of succeeding the peace process will require the transformation of ideas that are alien to their respective cultures and will demand a reassessment of objectives and a revaluation of the actual peace process itself. I believe they have ceased to look at the world as independent observers. They have, in a sense, become obsessed with themselves. It has to do with blood and roots, and elemental loyalty.

The Israelis are a people who have been under siege, scorned, rejected and hemmed in with hate for generations. Hatred is like a noose, it can hang your enemy but in the end it will strangle you also. They need reminding of something they’d rather forget – their conscience. If they lose the power of forgiveness they will lose the beat of their hearts. If they cannot find the spirit of forgiveness the soil will not prosper but turn to dust and in the end there is no wall, no table, and no people. Only desolation.

Will they sink into the grey, endless twilight? Will they go down fighting, hurling missiles that they hope will reshape Israel anew; will it give them a new morning to walk into, fearless and happy, a new world before them? Such death causes conflict! Yes they can overcome and shatter the Palestinians bow them down like trees in a wind but they will never be free. Never be able to walk in peace and the hatred that surrounds them will remain and the very fact that the threat remains may be enough to doom them.

I ask myself the question “Would the fate of the peace process be different if Yitzak Rabin had survived?” He was a consistent supporter of the peace process and whatever his illusions he was determined to bring peace and align the Palestinians for the future security of Israel. He died too soon to know what could have been achieved. He died by the hand of one of his own and fell prey to the agenda and power plays of others within Israel - this is where his death has led …

It was in the early 1970's that I commenced working for the Foreign & Commonwealth Office George Street in Whitehall. Fresh from College and a temporary job I took up my position as a General Secretary working for a Senior Economic Advisor. I was placed in an office with two older women, one of whom was in her middle age, the other quite close to retirement - both of whom seemed ancient to my young eyes. Both ladies had worked for the Government for many years and were well settled into their positions. What they thought of a flighty, mini-skirted eighteen-year-old I will never know, but they took me under their wing and within a few months, under their guidance and tuition, I became an efficient secretary and able to navigate the complexity of the Government department in which I worked.

I was into my third or fourth month when during idle chatter between ourselves I discovered that the elder lady, Miss P had worked in the Churchill War Rooms during the war years. During our discussion, she promised to take me on a tour of these old offices, which she told me lay beneath the building in which I worked. Within a few weeks she had arranged with an ex-war colleague, Harry, a custodian, for us to visit the rooms. It was an amazing experience walking the corridors and peering into the rooms with Ms P revealing the days she spent in those offices beside me. After a while I was left to wander alone whilst Ms P and her colleague caught up with a cup of tea and a chat. Alone in Churchill's Office, with no one around, I decided to take the opportunity and sit in Churchill's chair. I sat glancing at the items on the desk pondering the decisions that had been made when a voice startled me out of my reverie...

"Halloš.
My world suddenly shifted. I jumped up flustered and red of face. Before me stood a man in airforce uniform. Watching me he said
"New around here?š
I nodded.
"Cat got your tongue?"
I shook my head and he gave a small bark of laughter as he limped into the room offering me his hand.
"Captain Mitchell and you are?š
Our hands touched lightly
"Sue, Sue Lane - I came here with Miss P, she showed me around. I work...š
"Slow down!š he smiled. "Ah, let me see, Miss P?š
There was silence whilst he contemplated the name.
"Of course, Miss P, I remember Miss P. How is she?
"Good, she's with..."
He turned away from me and moved towards the chair that I had knocked back in my fluster. He placed it back in its proper position and leaned across the desk to move a few items into place. He looked up and asked.
"Have they shown you around?¡"
"Yesš.
"Good. Would you like to see more?š
I looked at him surprised, I thought I had seen everything.
"Miss P took me on the tourš.
He smiled, then amiably said
"Did she now but there's more?š
He moved forward, gently taking my arm to usher me out of the room. We walked side by side down the corridor before moving into a dim lit passage, leaving the fluorescent lights behind us. He limped into the darkness. I hung back slightly confused at the darkness that lay ahead. He turned towards me.
"Well, are you comingš. I looked back and then towards him.
"Are you sure this is alright. I mean Miss P never...š
He broke in rudely.
"Miss P wouldn't know about this. Are you coming or not?š
He moved forward and I hurried to catch him up.

Just as we moved into the darkness a light came on above us. We moved again towards more darkness when just as before another light automatically came on. I stopped confused. Looking behind me I could see nothing but darkness. Ahead lay the light we stood in and beyond that darkness. I looked toward the almost blue glow above me, puzzled. Captain Mitchell turned toward me
"They're sensor lightsš.
Baffled I looked at him.
"Sensor?š
"Lights that sense your approach and turn themselves onš.
"Oh!¡š
I had never heard of or seen anything like them before.
"It's a new technologyš, he explained
"Technology?š
"Of course, you don't understand. Look do come on and I'll explain more of this later to youš
Our footsteps softly echoed in the corridor as we moved forward.
"Where are we?š I asked.
"Under Whitehallš, he replied. "These passages stretch for miles. To the Palace, House of Commons; Ministry of Defence and other placesš.
I nodded knowingly. I had heard from members of the staff that they existed rather like the hole in the wallš that people mentioned but I had yet to enter in the main Office.

We stopped at a heavy metal door he pressed his hand up against what looked to be a glass plate and the door slid open with a hiss of air. We moved forward into a confined space. There was a slight humming in the air. The door slid shut behind us. I felt the warm air waft across my face and looked towards the ceiling, which seemed opaque. Captain Mitchell moved toward another door, which also slid open.
"Come on, this wayš.
We moved forward into another corridor this one brightly lit.
"Captain Mitchell. Sirš. A young man saluted. He seemed to expect us.
"This way, please Sirš. He indicated that we sit in what looked to be a low-hung car - a car without wheels. Before I had time to examine the vehicle, my arm was taken and I was assisted in. The young man strapped me in across both shoulders.
He smiled at me "For safetyš.
Captain Mitchell climbed in beside me.
"Comfortable?š
I nodded confused. Suddenly, with a whish, the car-like contraption seemed to hover for a second, then float on air, before moving swiftly forward. Minutes later it stopped. Released from the straps I shakily stepped out. Our mode of transport still floated on air. I bent down to look underneath, no wheels. There was nothing. I looked up. This sleek compact contraption was dissimilar to anything I had seen before. Captain Mitchell watched me carefully, noting the confusion on my face.
"It's electromagnetic. It transforms energy, lifting and moving on the momentum provided by the electrode current. It's difficult, it's almost inexplicable for me to explain to you - you'd have to be a mathematician to understand.š
I nodded. I had little understanding of what he had just told me.
"You're very pale, are you okay?š
Again, I nodded, turning back as the car like contraption slid silently forward, gaining speed, its body tilting slightly as it rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. I was swept by a sudden consciousness that something was strange.
"You're very quiet - cat got your tongue? This wayš.

We moved up some stairs towards a small platform. Ahead lay another door. I watched him press his fingers lightly over a small box covered with numbers. The door slid open with a hiss. We moved into a large well-lit room. Before me stood a mass of plate glass windows. I moved towards them and looking down I could see what looked to be a huge work area, above which hung eight enormous flat television screens, set out in two layers. I stared toward them stunned at the colourful images they displayed.

I turned questioningly towards Captain Mitchell. He stood in front of an open lift. He indicated that I join him and I moved forward. The doors silently closed. Within a second the doors slid open and we moved into the huge auditorium that I had just viewed through the glass windows. There was a murmur of voices, a faint clicking sound. Low pitched ringing. Uncomprehendingly, I looked around. In front on the huge screens, people were busily occupied at a desk like structure that ran in a huge half-circle on which sat small glass thin flat screens. Turning towards Captain Mitchell I asked
"What are theyš pointing towards them.
"Computer monitorsš he replied.
"Computer monitors?š I queried. "What do you mean?š
He thought for a moment, hesitating with his words before replying
"To put it simply, it's like a typewriter. Whereas you would place paper through a baton to type upon, the paper has now become the screen and what you type lies within the memory of the computer.š
"Computer?š
He pointed towards a small box.
Amazed I asked, "How do the words get typed onto the screen?"
"From a key-boardš he replied.
He moved forward and picked up a clear flat typewriter style keyboard and handed it to me. It felt light in my hands. I turned it over. There were no wires, nothing to connect it to the screen "But how do the words get to the screen?š
"Infra-redš He replied, smiling.
Yet, another unknown word. There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask but words failed me.

I looked up at the images flashing across the enormous cinema like screens.
"What do you see?š he asked
I turned my eyes away and looked at Captain Mitchell.
"It's similar to news footage but...š I stopped, unsure of my words, before continuing.
"It's like watching a film in a cinema, but these images are different. They are so clear and defined.š I hesitated again and pointed toward one screen.
"Is that a film of war?š
He nodded. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came. Confusedly I looked at the screen, I knew that what I was seeing was like no war film I had ever seen before and I felt sickened. He touched my arm gently.
"Don't try and understand, just look. Tell me what you see.š
The words tumbled from my mouth, as I described what I could see on the screens in front and above me. When I reached the lower eighth screen, he urged me to look again at the first where the images had changed. Four times I described what I was watching - 32 screens in all. I did not have time to pause or to probe each screen for its deepest meaning. Their pageant of portrayals moved on.
"What is this¡š I asked, "Is this a game?š
I felt his hand grip my shoulder gently.
"It's no game, but the truthš.
I turned toward him, confused and upset.
"The truth, the truth of what?š I asked
"The truth of life, the truth of men's actionsš.
I shook my head in confusion. I turned back towards the screens
"I don't understand you, I don't understand all thisš
"What you see may and could happenš, he replied. "Some of it will happenš.
I broke in angrily.
"I don't understand what you are saying, what do you mean? How can what I am seeing happen?š
He sighed and looked at me with sadness
"Everything depicted upon the screens are pictures of events in the future. Some will happen in your lifetime, some will happen in your children's lifetime and some in their children's lifetimeš.
I looked towards the screens trying to understand what he was telling me. I wanted to cry out in my confusion, I wanted to deny what was being seen. Again, I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder gently.
"I don't understand what you are saying doesn't make sense. This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. It just doesn't add up.š
"I know. It's hard for you to understand but you have to let your thoughts sink slowly and deeply below the surface of things and you'll begin to understand. May be then in time you'll come to understand the significance of what you have seen and will begin to believe"
I felt confused. Tears welled up and slipped down my face - what had I seen but death in the untrodden future of man? My mind was full of ancient doubts and fears. I felt lonely and far away from the warmth of life. Desolate I turned away. I didn't want him to see my tears. He handed me a handkerchief to mop my face.
"When I was in college¡š I said, "We were shown a banned film produced by the BBC about nuclear warfare and the ramifications following the detonation - they asked us what we thought after seeing the film - is this what this is about? The same sort of thing?š
Captain Mitchell looked at me and shook his head.
"Strictly speaking no, but in a way I wish it was. For what you see before you is the truthš
I looked at the screens again revealing the uncharted ill winds of time before turning back towards him.
"I didn't see - I mean there's no atomic war, no nuclear war portrayed. I...:
Again I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder gently.
"No, but what you have seen of the future reveals that such power can be used in ways that can kill. As yet, unseen memorials will arise to the thousands, may be millions who die. There will be no nuclear war as you imagine, which will destroy the earth - that threat does not exist - other things may do that before ultimate peace on earth is reached. It does not mean to say that a detonation does not occurš. He pointed to one screen. "See, one small regionalised detonation will kill many and the earth within that region will be death, people will dieš.
I looked into his face and saw the truth of his words and I felt a coldness run through me.
"The people dying, those I saw, some falling over, swaying, others grunting, laying abed unable to talk. They are sick very sick. Who are they, are they a result of war?š His reply was slow and filled with compassion,
"They are just people - ordinary men, women and childen who never needed to die but who will die. People who will die because people disregarded what was happening because other needs at the time took precedence. Part of it will be ignorance. They made all the wrong decisions for all the wrong reasons. Many will die, thousands will die, hundreds of thousands will die throughout the years - they will be a lasting memorial to those who come after and a warning for the future¡š.
His voice faded into silence as he watched the screen.
"Everything you see here does not need to happen, it may not eventuate. Because there is a choice.š
"Are you telling me that this is all about choices? I broke in
He looked at me sadly.
"Even you will have to make choicesš he said as he pointed to the first screen, you will become a part of what is happening on that screen and from your experience you will learn and understandš.
I turned towards him not understanding. He took my arm gently and moved me back into the lift. The doors slid shut with a quiet hiss.
"Soon it will start for you. You'll see it eventuate, become a part of it and live through it. For you that is the start from whence walls will tumble and men will flood to the four corners of the earth. You are the witness. For all that has been shown will be seen through your eyes and those that come after youš
The doors slid open and we moved into the glassed room. I moved towards the windows but he stopped me
"No, you have seen what you need to seeš.
Another door slid open and we moved down the stairs into the brightly-lit corridor.
"You will travel and will eventually move on from this country to settle at the end of the earth. Already you know the one who will make you more than your Christian name is and your first grandchild will be named after this one's birthplace - it is as has been portrayedš.

Mystified I followed him, little understanding then the meaning of his words. As we continued to walk, he spoke and I listened to his voice and words. Understanding little. We walked for what seemed hours slowly and as fast as his leg would allow him through the quiet corridors. We returned to the war rooms and he moved once again into Churchill's office. I moved forward and sat again in Churchill's chair attempting to understand all that he had told me. I glanced at him; he was bending low rubbing his knee. He looked up and smiled, brushing his dark hair from his forehead.
"All that walking has made it acheš.
I looked towards the table contemplating its objects.

"Well, there you are, we've been looking for you for ages. Where have you been?š
I looked up sharply at Miss P's voice.
"Where's Captain Mitchell?
Her companion Harry joined her.
"Captain Mitchell?"
I looked at them both
"Yes, Captain Mitchell, he was just here.š I said
"There's no Captain Mitchell here.š Harry responded.
I looked at them confused.
"Yes he was, he took me to see the rest of the roomsš.
"What rooms, these are the only rooms. Are you having us on?š
They looked bewildered.
"Look I'll show youš.
I moved forward as they stepped aside and followed me out of the room. I turned into the corridor, turned right, the way I had come with Captain Mitchell and came to a brick wall. Perplexed I turned and moved back into Churchill's room. I looked around gathered my bearings and retraced my steps. Again the brick wall. I knew that this was the way I had walked but the corridor had disappeared and the brick wall remained.
I turned towards Miss P and Harry who were watching me with some concern.
"This wasn't here, the passageway was open, we walked through and all the lights came on as we walkedš My voice petered out.
Miss P's companion Harry, gave a nervous laugh.
"No Missy you're wrong. That wall has always been here, as far back as I can remember, there's nothing but earth and stone behind it.š
"But I'm telling you it wasn't hereš.
I stopped - I could see the concern and confusion on their faces. I looked at Miss P and said
"Captain Mitchell said he knew you. He had a limp, he was tall, mid thirties, had dark hair and...¡š
Miss P gasped and paled. She took a step backward.
"What's that? Captain Mitchell did you say. Captain Mitchell died in the war. He was in Churchill's plane when it crashedš. Her voice tapered off. I looked at her shocked
My voice shaking I said
"You're wrong, it - it can't be. I spoke to him, he was hereš.
We looked at each other.
"I was with him for a couple of hours, he was as real to me as I am to you. Believe me, I'm not..."
Harry broke in
"A couple of hours, you've only been alone may be fifteen minutes.š
I glanced at the watch on my hand - he was right.
Trying to make sense of what had happened I looked at him and said
"I was sitting in Churchill's chair when he walked in and introduced himself to me.š I could hear the relief in Harry's voice
"Well there you are, you must have fallen asleep and dreamt itš.
"But how did she know Captain Mitchell? Miss P exclaimed
Harry shrugged,
"Don't know, may be his name is around here somewhere, may be she read it somewhere. may be you've mentioned himš
Miss P looked slightly relieved ¡- it seemed to make sense and she desperately wanted it to make sense.
He ushered me away from the wall
"Gosh, you look as if you've seen a ghost - quick cup of tea for you. Better not mention this to anyone might think you're a little - well you know and it wouldn't look good for me if they knew you'd been sitting in Churchill's chair. Okay?š
I nodded agreement.

For another year or two I continued working in the Office - nothing further was mentioned about the incident between Miss P and myself. What happened faded into memory. It was real, yet so unreal and I pushed it away. Within a few months I had met and fallen for the man that I was to marry. Within a year my surname became White. Was this a coincidence - had I become more than my Christian name?

Shortly after, during a duty weekend, I walked through the ¡Hole in the Wall¡ and in my explorations looked down into Downing Street and over Horse Guards Parade. A few months after marriage, I left government service and for a year or so worked in a Merchant Bank in the City of London. Once my husband had qualified we moved to live and work overseas in Iran where the first screen, as I had been told, became reality. The revolutionary wheels at first turned slowly before gathering pace and speed. Once they had started rolling they couldn't be stopped. Their reverberations were felt across the world and later, as the third screen revealed, led to bloody battles between Iran and Iraq. We left Iran on Khomeni's return to the country and found ourselves living and working for three years in the tranquillity of the Seychelles. Having seen and known danger, the calm of Seychelles hid the terrors that lurked on the distant horizon. On our return from overseas and with little to tie us to the UK we decided to emigrate and found ourselves travelling to our nominated home-place, Australia. Was this another coincidence?

Today as I sit here and record this story, it suddenly hits me, I am soon to be a grandmother and my son and his girlfriend have already named their child Devon Mitchell White. Was this yet another coincidence? Devon, being the birthplace of my husband. Mitchell, I tell myself, is just a coincidence being the surname of my son's girlfriend but a coldness runs through me as I type these words.

There are times when I look back and wonder. I try to understand what occurred. Was it a dream? Had the Chair somehow transported me across time? Had Churchill been transported into the future? Had he like me slipped into another dimension or through a portal in time? What does it all mean? Questions I cannot answer. There are so many questions I ask myself today and can find no answers.

Time moves slowly on. Events gather pace. We are now in the new Millennium and in the 30 years since I trod the passageway from that room, four screens have eventuated. We are, I believe, currently on the fifth and sixth. The fifth screen depicted the disease that has begun to kill the young and old throughout the world. The sixth depicted the stirring of conflict in the Middle East. Today, the Middle East is teetering on the edge of the unknown. The darkness encroaches that few will be able to escape. I have the feeling that we move even closer to the seventh screen. God help us all!

All I can do is watch and wait. Trying not to believe but believing anyway. The secrets of the screens are held within myself. There is much more I could write, but how could I explain to you some of the things I have seen? Some of the things I experienced in that room? I can't. I can't make anyone believe or understand for how could I? It is my story, a story that you, this computer and I will ever know...

On Saturday we awoke to a dew spangled morning and a golden sheen of a day. It was one of those brilliant winter days when the world gleamed like something new-made. The sky was pale blue, clean and bright. Our breath puffed great silver clouds in the cold air. Later in the day as the evening mist rose and the failing sunlight turned into dusk, a cracking fire kept away the night chill with its bright gold, glowing red embers. As the birds winged their way to their nests swooping and diving through the still dusk the sun touched the sea pooling like molten brass on the far horizon. The night breeze whispered through the gum leaves. I listened to the night sounds of the chirruping sparrows, thrushes and blackbirds and the scream of a departing cockatoo and the shifting of the leaves and the tick and creak of swaying branches as a possum rustles furtively in the gum leaves above my head.

On Sunday we awoke to a dense grey fog which wrapped the land in a clotted mass as thick as wool which never quite lifted. Later in the morning it rained from a pewter filled sky.

The days are slowly getting cooler and the winter wind occasionally places its cold fingers upon my face. We have had some cold grey days of little light and bone biting winds this year. But slowly our days begin to grow lighter and longer. The mountains in the high places wear a thick winter mantle of white. The snow this season has been plentiful.

But the dullness of winter will soon pass as the seasons continue to move through their inexorable cycle of birth and rebirth and the rhythm of life. Soon the spring rain will soak the soil, the summer sun will bake and blister the land and the autumn mists will once again chill the heart.