Numimous
Anastasia Kalos
Many things are named after famous men. Heartache is never one of them.
After landing in Botany Bay in 1770, Captain James Cook noted the river that came to be known after him and thought it to be an idyllic spot until it proved otherwise. For thousands of years, the small tributary once fed and nourished the Bediagal, Gameygal, Gadigal and Wangal people. In the two centuries following the 18th century, shell middens and rock shelters now remain and witness daily walkers, joggers and cyclists. We all pass these ancient markers by, focused on getting our 10,000 steps in as the ancient spirits blend with the air molecules to offer up an array of colours that wind back in time to the legendary rainbow serpent.
The surrounding parkland hugs the river and plays host to children’s birthday parties. On misty mornings, one may encounter a fox. Mangroves poke through the sandy banks like skeletal fingers signifying the eternal hush in remembrance. Short hidden tracks wind through shrubs and trees, temporarily obliterating the line between nature and grid-locked suburbia. Venus twinkles on some nights, while birds settle for the evening as nocturnal blooms unravel their fragrance to the chorus of frogs and crickets.
It is here that the birdsong quells doubt. The river flows clear most days. On other days, it gently transfers flotsam and jetsam, for the current to take it to the farthest point. It is how I imagine the transportation of thoughts to a place I can imagine as a chute of infinite depth. In the afternoons, flying fish leap from the water while ibises peck at the grass and sandbanks, as rented kayaks glide by. In the early evening fruit bats unfurl and race against twilight. I see it all as I sit and unpick thoughts like stitches and resuture my soul.
The river rises and falls like a steady heartbeat. The faint hint of brine in the air harks to the interstitial fluid within all of us. As terrestrial as we are, we were all part of it once and our bodies remember even as its memory slips away like the whisper of butterfly wings.
