The landscape maps imprints of tracks and trails, crisscrossing insects and marsupials that have passed through the sandy soil onto the concrete tracks of ‘civilisation’. The cavernous grounds are also the habitat of birds and minute creatures. Birds that bring tidings from time to time. The sea breeze that brushes our hair can be gentle. The stormy gale can rip up the roofs of our minds. Constructed borders fence in territories through imposed rules that are oftentimes blind to the laws of nature. So cataclysmic errors of judgment can lead to an unexpected turn of trauma and despair. The blame game can only turn little bushfires into a conflagration. Reading the Country needs an openness to the Spirit of the Country, invisible to those who refuse to recognise our kindred spirit.