the clunking of the tires against dusty gravel roads
everything jammed into the back between the esky and the surfboards
music playing so loud the darkness of the night time dissolves
Ziggy Alberts and Jack Botts setting the mood for the long journey ahead
by the time it's dark and our headlights are the only sign of life, still two and a half hours to go
so we drive, into the night and away from any resemblance of civilisation
when we arrive, the campsite sits quietly in the moonlight
nurtured by the tall trees and cradled by the land beneath our feet
up the tent pops, and in an instant, sleep
as morning roles around
the gentle songs of the birds and the warm kiss of the sun
gently rock you awake
an early start as the waves call us to the coast
once again we squeeze everything in between the surfboards and head coastward
the morning sun beams in through the open car windows
and music blaring yet calm and collected
like it's holding us down, our feet on the ground and our minds in the water
the first dive of the morning is always a different kind of magic
the cold water engulfs your body and wraps you in it's nurturing arms
next stop, down long dirt roads, we head into the forest
the trees loom over either side of us, lining the road
as if watching the visitors to this sacred land enter
laying down the picnic rug and pulling out the esky
we find a spot to rest our hot and weary bodies for the afternoon
protected by the towering karri trees
and softened by the shade they provide
as the afternoon fades into a daze of painting and relaxing
and driving and dancing and playing
it only fair,
the moon is given another night to shine
as darkness creeps in
and the sun melts away after another long summer day
the magic of this beautiful place remains
because no matter what,
the beauty and magic,
of margaret river,
will forever,
and without falter,
linger in the trees, the lungs of this land
and the ocean, the blood in it's veins
forever in the earth
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