halfway down the gorge
it is absolute, and we
mere climbing animals.
All about it circles,
engulfing the stream that falls
far into prehistory.
The rock is red and dark:
exposed to weather, and becoming shapes
as light and shadow in a secret well
deeper, and clearer, and more quiet than time.
The creekbed track that brought us here
trespassed on grave New England farms;
bulls grudged us passage to this place
where trees bind the precipice. It all
could be a great pitcher at which
not gods now, but piping bellbirds
come to drink, to
dwell inside the mountain.
- Michael Dransfield (Streets of the Long Voyage)
Yep, Dangar Falls, just outside Dorrigo.