Thoughts on a cruel week for a Christian School.

Sometimes in a fallen world you're presented with moral choices that have no clean solutions. You have to walk the path but you can't avoid a brush with tragedy. It's a grief that a Christian leader needs to know how to accept. Without a category for lament in your worship,…

The World is our teacher

For Nat, beginning School Ride the wind with me. To ride the wind – in any form – to fly a kite, loft a balloon in the gloaming, hear the snap of a sail, or glide on feckless membranes over a salt white deathful-playful roil – to be grasped by the wind is…

Ways

The Macquarie University train station took my breath away the first time I slipped below the surface of Herring Road: the long gliding descent into a cavern shaped like a monster’s egg laid in the crust of a world—vanished leaving only its negative space. I was entranced. But,…

Rosemary

There is a dead rosemary growing out of the Cafe table, dried silvery and leaning. It’s a victim of the vogue for indoor greening. Planted in a corner, where it is too sheltered. Rosemary is a full-sun kind of plant and its paused form is expressive of this love.…

Bubble Man

There is a man making bubbles by the Archibald fountain in the park — a street entertainer drawn here by the crowds. In this place at the northern end of the park all the pathways converge and the sound of water announces the confluence, a pedestrian eddy of suits, tourists, joggers,…

How a tree waits

Leaves don’t fall. Not in any straightforward sense. You really get a sense of this if you watch widely, unfocus that point in the centre of your looking and gaze from the sides of your eyes. Delight your peripheral vision. Wait for the great exhalation to pass over an…

An Essay on Lent

I. It’s the time of year when we awake from the drowsy hedonism of summer and jump to our feet, only to glimpse our plans and projects getting away from us. The year is getting into swing. There is a rhythm, like a Dave Brubeck time signature, but you…

Coffee and Freedom

Final Step Cafe, Melbourne. Murphy Street, Toorak. Double Ristretto. I only risk the double rist when great rewards are offered. Probably the best I’ve ever had – the real deal. It refused to be relegated to the background, to quietly shuffle to the corner of my consciousness behind the smells,…