Holy Ground at Charlotte Cove

This is the rock,

This large flat piece of dolorite,

solid surface evidence of ancient subterranean inferno,

now fringed about by bright green sea lettuce

and soft pink sea anemones;

Its cracked surfaces colonised for aeons

by oysters and mussels and limpets,

by tiny snails and giant periwinkles,

a veritable cornucopia for visiting gulls and cormorants.



This is the rock,

Perching on the terrestrial margin,

Warmed by the sun, lashed by the rain,

Submerged or exposed by tidal interchange

Witness to the mood swings of the ever changing sea;

The glass-like calm, the diamond ripple,

Or the unrelenting lash of a southern gale,

It sits in active passivity, waiting and watching,

A quiet participant in the relentless flow of life.



This is the rock,

Upon which I have sat in quiet meditation

Embraced by the beauty of southern Tasmania;

At my feet the southern ocean merges

with tannined wilderness river water

Huon and Garden Islands guard the cove

while in the distance is the sometimes

snow capped, often heat hazed, strangely exotic

Fuji-like cone of Adamson’s Peak.



This is the rock,

Which early one morning showed me a miracle.

A huge eyed seal sat upon this rock

And held my gaze as I caught my breath,

A selkie of ancestral belief, a totem

Of beloved memory.

Put off your shoes when you approach

And be still for the presence of the lord.

This is the rock of holy ground.