Arriving at the end is just a beginning

By Fiona Ball

In Australian Indigenous culture people are sung in and out of life….and so it was I was sung into the next part of mine.

Walking barefoot through tidal sand, mud, seaweed, shells and shallow cold clean sea water, the seals sang. The sound was otherworldly, like the call of dogs to each other, carried by the wind. The sound carried me for the the mile journey on a brightly overcast day to Lindisfarne, the Holy Island in north east England.

My arrival to this place was significant. Sitting in a golden room, eating chocolate, teary with tiredness, emotions run across my consciousness like water colors in the rain.

The journey to this place feels like dancing on the yellow brick road in my red shoes, so many adventures, people and places have been felt through my skin, seen through my eyes, and carried as memories with a powerful sense of wonder.

Leaving home so months ago, my thirsty heart yearned …..what for, was not clear.

I have discovered I’m not 20 years old any more, however I can meet challenges. The world is a kind and colorful place full of people with rich stories, both funny and blindingly sad.

Being real is important—life is more fleeting than most of us understand. While away from home, I have experienced two deaths and the birth of relationships I intend to have for the rest of my days. I have found a depth of connection that goes down through my foundations, not just through bloodline, but more a sense of self that sits firmly in the chest and knows itself without doubt.

A more perfect ending to this arrival would not be possible.

On the 22nd October 2024 I made contact with Cheryl. This is how it went.

"Hi Cheryl,

I recently found your writers adventure in Scotland. When I read about how you work my heart started beating faster. I’m an Australian art therapist, yoga teacher, nature nut, a beginner writer looking for exactly what you offer in the place you offer it….couldn’t believe my good fortune. What is your program for 2025??? I’m in Scotland in May/ June and would dearly love to do a walk of this kind…… please let me know your availability.

Thank you so much

Warmest

Fiona Ball"

Cheryl responded the following day, smiling across the miles between her home in Seattle and mine in a forest on the Sunshine Coast , Australia.

A year later we walked, four women together, traversing miles across the Scottish Borderland under a shining sun, dancing over hillsides, singing through sheep pastures, smiling in heather filled valleys, in awe over streams, experiencing more miracles than is possible to count. All the while chattering to each other and ourselves, moving sore feet and aching bodies through space and time.

This arrival, with attendant joy, satisfaction and grace is also a departure. The doorway to the next chapter beckons. However, for now, I’m having that nip of whiskey bought on the first morning of this walking adventure and sitting with gratitude for strong legs, my erstwhile companions and a dream realized.

Arriving is just the start.

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Writing from the road

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Soundwalking

By Cheryl Murfin

Morning chatter gives way to

Fionas’ peanut butter calling

and directions being pointed out

Beneath busy birdsong and unevenly spaced steps

where our feet sounds beat out a rhythm,

thumpity-click-thumpity-click-thumpity-click 

and doves pour out their mourning until

their grief is drowned out by the river's flow

and its whirling, twirling eddies

above which, an oak branch snaps

while its neighboring leaves leaves clap in delight,

to which a busy crow coughs CAW! CAW!

before flying off a laurel that's fallen in the forest,

and lies whimpering, like a cheated hedgerow

until nearby, the almost buzz of a honeybee returns to its comb in the cold fall morning

making a sigh with his last breath

as a delicate white butterfly, plays her wings like harps

in symphony with a tractor turning the field

and the creep of a car on a country road 

and nearby talk of aging in a circle of friends

is punctuated by a motorcycle in need of a muffle

that is eventually out-sounded

by a scolding of geese

whose slowly coordinating voice

finally finds its tenor to announce over the lake:

"This way, This way!”

We pilgrims listen.

It seems they’re know where they’re going.