I know it is not ocean, but the bird calls (a sulphur crested cockatoo or two) over the water falling are so extraordinary and kindof transporting… remind me of a place I knew a few years back, a simple little plot by the coast in southern NSW.

Maybe that’s the connection. Having lost the farm, the idea of cost and loss and spend are entwined with raucous exchange.

“The cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life, that must be exchanged for it, immediately and in the long run.”
– from Henry David Thoreau’s account of his two years in the small cottage he built on Walden Pond, Concord, Mass.