I knew Karijini was an ancient landscape. I had seen images of claustrophobic canyons carved by raging floods. Satellite views of rolling plains broken by fractal-like gorges. And paintings of arthritic ghost gums clinging to cliffs. 

But it wasn’t until I was standing on Country that I truly felt the deep time of the landscape. 

Only after scrambling down scree slopes did I see the creeks that created the gorges. Sometimes they tumbled, sometimes they trickled. Yet they flowed ever onwards, ever down. Making their mark, grain by grain, rock by rock.

Only after pausing (and catching my breath) on distant ridges did I notice the rich web of life around me. The tiny wildflowers etching out a living in the stony soil underfoot. The calls of distant parrots and cockatoos. The gums scarred by endless cycles of fire and rebirth.