Walked for the first time to Georges Head in Sydney Harbour today. Took some phone photos.

Saw beauteous bounty, bulging proportionality, far off views of harbour n city, close up views of honey-yellow sandstone.

And all this in a place I’ve lived in for over thirty years.  Had no idea.  There were artists’ studios, a cafe with yummoh food and wine.  A rabbit ran there, too.  (But Alice was nowhere to be seen nor a hole to fall down through; but Lewis Carroll was in the air.) The smell of bush and flowers and yet the city was all around me.  Silence, with now and then a grumpy school teacher ruining the view for the groups of grumped-at kids.

Sydney is the most beautiful place, full of surprises, her resilience defying still the fat-bellied greed and red faced gluttony of her human tormentors.

Got me to asking this: how ‘little’ is the little I know?

How little, if measured, would that ‘little’ be?  Smaller, surely, than a drop of water. Much.  Littler than a little dot I can hardly see on this computer screen challenging me to accurately describe how little I know.

A gift then on this lovely, lovely sunny day to walk out in the warmth of it and get some sense of how little I know.  Lucky day.

How little is the ‘little’ you know?

M