The Silent Stories of Travellers

Wategos, Byron Bay

“To proceed or advance in any way” – one of the Macquarie Dictionary’s definitions of the word travel. Considering that it’s inevitable for people to age, day by day, second by second, no matter how old one lives to, we are essentially all travellers by default. We don’t have any choice in the matter.

Everyone is on a journey, some bigger in geography, others bigger in heart, others more determined, while some wander listlessly for reasons they’re not sure. Every path is an adventure, and every living creature is a traveller. Just think of all the untold stories, drifting silently, known by none other than those who’ve experienced them.

A great friendship, a quiet and alluring hill, a brave fight, a love that will stay with you as long as you could imagine, a magical song (for music is true magic), a mirthful dance, a welcome feast, an aimless wander with a close friend after a big night out.

A smile which changed your whole day and outlook. Days pass, and you sometimes think about that smile, and wonder what adventures brought that strange person to such a moment in time.

Then there’s the days you’re walking home (yesterday), and it seems like any other, and just for a moment you look up and see a flock of cockatoos soaring through clear blue sky on the left, while close to the right are a flock of geese, wings outstretched, necks extended in full flight with half a dozen of their friends.

I began thinking what each flock thinks of each other and why they don’t interact. Then I thought how utterly beautiful the scene was I’d just witnessed. What had their days been like? Where were they going and what had they seen? And does it really matter that no one knows but they? (Or do they?).

Well, I for one would like to know, for I like stories. Especially ones about the travels that people and all kinds of creatures get up to. Everyday.

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