File: TO_SLEEP.TXT         TerraHertz            5/11/1997


               And now I lay me down to sleep....


Cool, deep, astonishingly clear water. An eel, lazily touring his realm,
unafraid. Peace. Silence, but for the small sounds of birds, and soft
tick of leaves. I flick a tiny quartz pebble into the water, and watch
the perfect rings slowly grow, as the white speck sinks down, down, then
lies plainly visible on the dark leafy bottom at least 10 feet below.
I grin to myself; all these years, and I still think in the feet of my
childhood. That seems so, so, long ago. But now it doesn't matter - feet,
meters, all irrelevant. I shall measure as I please, and none shall care.
This water is indeed amazingly clear. As like that time long ago, there
must have been just the right amount of rain over winter. Enough to keep
the stream gently flowing and flush the algae, yet not so much to stir
up any sediment. So clear... The eels have forgotten man.
It is a beautiful springtime, everything glowing, pure and alive,
as if to say 'See, how fine I am when you leave me alone!'
Yes, I know. If only we had. Can you welcome me home, place of my spirit,
despite what has been done?

I feel old, which is fair enough since I would be 84 in a few weeks time.
But I have come to Miara to die, and am sitting on the bank recalling my
life, and the events that had led to being here, with this intent.

There had been great social upheavals (much as I predicted in Evergreen).
Now, 'society' consists of scattered small country subsistence communities.
The vast majority of the world's population of the 1990s had died in the
times of trouble - roughly 1999-2020. Australia had fared badly too, with
almost all of the city dwellers and much of the country population
perishing in civil unrest, ultimately unsuccessful invasion attempts, and
the collapses of supply infrastructure, modern medicine and utilities that
resulted from the fighting. What I missed most was chocolate. And ice cream.
For many years now I had been living by myself on a small farm down south,
eeking out a simple life, growing my own food, and doing whatever small
technology repair jobs I could for my few neighbours. Growing old quietly.

Of my family, I knew of no one left alive except my daughter Ella, and she
I had lost  contact with many years ago. My older son Myles had survived
much of the troubles, but eventually his asthma had grown worse, and without
medicine he had died from it. My wife Ra had not lasted long at all,
dying ironicly here of what she had once survived so much of in her
native Cambodia- cruel, ignorant men in uniform with guns. My father and
grandparents had died years before the fall, and my mother in its early
days, before its true nature became apparent.
Ella I thought was living somewhere up north, but there was no way to find
her, and I was too old and tired to travel in search of her. And no point
in burdening her anyway. I would have liked to say goodbye.

Some months ago I had decided that my time had best be over, and thought of
how and where I wished to end my days. My little farm was pleasant enough,
but it was recent in my life, and I yearned to see once again the places I
grew up in. Sydney I knew was in ruins, but I wanted to see it one more time.
I remembered the times when I was young, and had now and then imagined I
would one day see the towers and bridges of Sydney in ruins, overgrown with
greenery. This would be worth seeing, before my end - a closure, and a
vindication. For all the sadness and loss, a small indulgence of 'I told
you so'. To see nature reclaiming those concrete walls to life, and 
imagine just for a while that here was nature's victory over man's folly.
As if the end of nature itself was not blowing in the wind. One stop on
my last journey would have to be Sydney city centre, and the blue harbour.

Then there was the matter of where to lay down for my final rest.
The thought of choosing one of the houses in which I grew up had some appeal,
yet I knew they would all be in ruins, overgrown and perhaps with dangerous
ruin-dwellers about. Not a pleasant, calming atmosphere, and anyway I wanted
to get away from the works of man. So where was there?
The answer was easy, and really I had known it all along. I remembered well
that warm afternoon long ago I had sat on the bank of Heathcote creek and
known I would come there one day to die. That had been another spring day,
about 1997 I think. I'd brought the children there by myself to camp for
the weekend, and Ra had stayed home. With the children playing on the sand
by the main pool, I'd gone a little way downstream alone, and was sitting
just here on the steep drop bank, looking into the deep pool. A feeling of
precience had came over me, as though I connected with a far future me,
sitting in the same spot in very different times. Now the same feeling,
but reaching backwards; rememberance of happier times. How I should like
to walk back to the pool and find my dear Myles and Ella playing there.

So here I am. Alone, thinking of how Sydney had looked as I walked through
its ruins in the last two weeks. It had seemed completely deserted, which
given my frail, slow progress, was probably just as well. It had exhausted
me, and just about exhausted my food supply. Still, no matter. I am merely
grateful that of all my aged weakenings, at least my eyesight has held up
fairly well, and so I finally achieved my long ago vision.

The old campsite is almost completely overgrown now. It seems many years,
decades, since anyone has visited. The low stone walls of the camping area
terraces are still here, and the fireplace - somewhat fallen down. This
place was where my grandfather and his mates came to rest up for a weekend
or week, and talk of their campaigns to create the great national parks that
Sydney boasted in my lifetime. I have cleared a place for my old tent on
the flat where I used to camp as a child with my parents. It is where I
used to pitch my tent when I brought my children Myles and Ella here- though
I did not do that as often as I should have. It is where my father and his
father pitched their tents, too. A good place to rest, finally.
Such short times my children had of a peaceful world. Not even grown up
when it all fell apart. Never had their own car.

Tonight I will have a big fire under the great old tree where I remember
lying as a child, listening to my parents and their bushwalking friends
talk and story-tell late into the night. Circled around the fire, flickering
light on the twisted gum branches high above, and sometimes a glimpse of
a meteor streaking briefly down the sky. Then, a clear look at the night
sky was a treat, what with living in the haze of city lights. I used to
wonder if I'd ever get into space, if mankind ever would. Now I know the
answer - no. We never did, and now its too late. A few moon landings,
never even got to Mars. One small step, then flat on our faces.
For a while after the fall there'd been those who thought it could all
be put back together, maybe in just a few years.
But it just kept on going downhill. The plagues took almost everyone, and
too much knowledge was lost. Technology lay a shattered eggshell, too many
pieces missing, irrecoverable without the time to walk the same path from
its beginnings. Perhaps we could have eventually, and done it more wisely
and reponsibly the second time. But there was never to be the time.
These last years the few radio contacts with other countries had begun to
tell of worse disasters; of leaking derelict nuclear power plants and fuel
stores, slowly spreading blights, horrible things, death on the wind and in
the water. Here in Oz we had not seen the effects yet, but they would come.

I do not want to see them. I prefer to end my days in this beautiful spot,
before it withers. What have we done? I know what we have done, and I hate
my kind for their stupidity and mindless greed.
We could have achieved so much, but in the end we have killed a planet.

Normally in the bush I would always put out a fire with water when I am
finished with it. Not tonight.
It should be all right, the weather seems mild, not likely to be any wind
to blow embers around. I had better gather some wood before it gets dark.
Then I will go to sleep looking at the stars, up through the branches of
the old tree. To rest at last, in the arms of my home.