Dreaming of your voice(s)

One week has passed since returning to my hometown of Melbourne. It was still dark when the plane touched down at ‘Tullamarine’ airport, the tarmac shrouded in fog, the cabin lights dimmed and an iconic Australian tune playing on the loudspeaker. As I listened to a haunting cover version of the Cold Chisel classic Flame Trees, performed by Sarah Blasko, tears welled and I was reminded of a strong sense of belonging, we shared some history, this town and I. The rising late winter sun cutting through the fog was casting ethereal silhouettes against gum trees as we drove past the Royal Melbourne Zoo, just savouring familiar sights. I breathed it all in, content within the missing. The significance of this track matches that of the song I was listening to around this time last year. In fact, my arrival home after an extended period overseas in Canada lends a curious irony to my choice for the last day of this 30 day song challenge.  In early August of last year, I spent a glorious summer afternoon at the Edmonton Folk Festival. For me, one of the highlights was hearing The Waifs, especially their performance of London Still, a catchy folk song about the expat experience, a song that merges a deep melancholic longing for home with a contentment in the here and now. The last time I heard this performed live was at the Point Nepean Festival in 2008, so faraway now in time and memory. What I love most about this song is the distinct aussie accent that punctuates the lyrics and melody, a sound that transports me back to the ‘land downunda’, wherever in the world I might be. In hindsight, I must have been feeling a sense of displacement this time last year, as I was keen to meet and speak with the band members, just to connect with some aussies I guess, to hear those familiar accents. The funny thing is, now I long to hear the accents of my Canadian friends, especially the sound of my partner’s voice. In Edmonton, still. Distance and proximity, time and space can be variously cruel and kind. Tonight I lie in my old bedroom at my parents’ home, listening to the familiar sound of possums on the corrugated rooftop. I’m kinda happy here for now.  And yet, my mind drifts to faraway places, to the murmur of distant voices. I wonder what I’m missing….I think of songs I’ve never heard….I’m dreaming of your voices….