Take a Candid Memory Moment

“Is it all right you’re up here with me, or would you rather be with someone else?”

After our steep climb, clambering over rocks under the afternoon sun, I took a moment to breathe in the view. Australia’s Central Desert is a mix of ochre red dirt with patches of green bush spread out to the horizon. It was greener than I thought it would be. 

“No... I’m glad it’s with you.” Surprised by the question after what seemed like hours of sweaty silence.

With throbbing dehydrated skulls, we sat down, our legs hanging over the cliff’s edge. We drank from our water bottles and sucked the nectar from nearby honey grevillea flowers. Her uncertainty reminded me of my own inherent self-doubt. We were two young women contemplating whether we should be here, forging a friendship in a wondrous landscape. 

Curious about the collective stories of places, I imagined we were actively taking part in the desert’s living memory. Escaping from our perceived limitations and searching for adventure, we made an unconscious deal that day to endure. We were incomplete mosaics waiting for time to reveal vibrant shards of experience that we could use to piece ourselves together.

I draped myself on the warm boulder and took a deep breath, holding it in as long as I could. 

She grinned at me.

“Take a candid memory moment with me. You have to use your five senses, ok?” 

“Sure.” 

“What do you see?”

“I see the outline of Mount Wedge.”

“What do you feel?”

“A breeze licking the back of my neck.”

“What do you hear?”

“Your voice and the wind.”

“What do you taste?”

“A sticky sweetness.”

“What do you smell?”

“My armpits!”

Laughing, we started to climb down the rockface to join the rest of the group at the waterhole.