There was so much of the whole place to take in that whatever may have slipped out of the frame belonged nowhere else you could think of quickly and you might even be tempted to add that there was enough down there to get on with anyway so why worry about it and who’d argue the point, the drift of what I am saying possibly being that what glorious small thought could ever be deemed appropriate when confronted with such immensity, by which I mean all those patched bolts of crumpled scenery unrolling for what could be ever-and-ever—like fate, history or the hereafter—indicating meaningful assertions in hessian, blotched sailcloth, with obscurities of muslin, not to mention an endless sufferance of sacking, complete with suggestions of hot and gritty ashes, all of them ripped apart by huge riverbeds, none of which were presently serving their prime purpose? But never forget you could very well take a deep breath and go on to ask what about the hand of man and if things might not be enhanced greatly by long strips of steel rails, chains of lorries loaded with asphalt or concrete and shops with gas pumps, just as with a dramatic sweep of the arm you may as well go the whole hog and admit to the mystery of endless giant clouds that were pegged out like permanent fixtures, exactly the same as last time. In other words there were aspects of largeness that didn’t fit a neat picture even though, I agree, they also weren’t trying to go out of their way to be what you might describe as pretentiously impressive on an entirely imaginary scale of holy grandeur. It called for some sort of theory to tidy up everything. I didn’t feel it was down to me to figure it out and the passenger next door never stopped talking, so there it still is, patiently out there waiting.
Flying across Australia