Bungle Bungles, Purnululu National Park
The machine shows no reluctance to delicately lift and float,
Da Vinci’s imagination wavers a metre or two off the ground
then shifts fast as a dragonfly and with that insect’s precision.
The engine is muffled in the headphones transmitting the pilot’s
radio traffic, loud and invasive, when it could be poetry or music
working with these amazing striped domes, overall theme red.
The whole plateau reveals its pinnacles, soft sculptures softened
by distance on the scale of the sublime, hard to make sense of
except as beauty, beautiful patterns not needing music.
We bank, without doors, close to white sandy tracks the rivers
leave behind. I see a yin/yang pool, curving sand and water, try
to think Deep Time but there are too many gaps, abstractions.