I can always remember having dreams, daydreams I guess, of living in a small hut in the rainforest of Far North QLD. One thing is true, I always dreamt of coming back to this area. Sometimes I thought of Yalanji country every day. It was always in my mind and my heart. I don’t do crowds that well. I can handle it up to a point, but home is my sanctuary. Home is where I know strangers just do not come unless invited. Not because we are averse to the idea, it’s because we are 4 kilometres up a dirt road with only one neighbour past us. I have become attuned to the uniques sounds of the neighbours, and our friends’ cars. I can generally hear the louder ones when they are about half a km away. At night, when it is still, I can hear them coming along the straight, 3km away. We often hear the distant sounds of the odd vehicle on the Bloomfield road at night, or day. It’s always quiet enough if the wind isn’t blowing. On very quiet nights, we hear the thrumm of the giant diesels in the cargo ships, 12km off the coast in the channel. Then there are the animal sounds. Geckos scurrying across the roof. Crickets, frogs and a disorientated cicada sing choruses together. Scrub fowl call to each other in the undergrowth down the paddock (staying up all night to get lucky). An owl in the distance calls for a friend. The trickle of the stream, over a hundred metres away in the forest can be heard if you listen for it. I live in a paradise that some people, like me, dream of living. Sometimes I have to stop and remember that this *is* my dream, and I am a very lucky man to be living it.