But when you listen deeply, you hear the soundscape more layered and meaningful. I can hear the subtle background noises like the rustling leaves in the wind, distant birds chirping, the rippling and splashing sound of the lake while the birds swam, gravel under foot, crunching of the leaves and the traffic hum. I captured all these layers of sound by practising the deep listening which I learnt in Dadirri (2017), or inner deep listening, which is about pausing and listening beyond words, to the land, to the self, and to community. Dadirri invites us to hear not only what is beneath, between, and within.

Sound:

When we listen closely, we can hear a natural rhythm with the sounds in the environment, and this rhythm helps shape the way we experience the temporal arts. These sounds or natures music can be seen as ephemeral performances, moments that happens only one time and cannot be reproduced the same way or be identical again.

Listening to the nature’s music, it reminds me of Victor Wooten’s (2013) idea that music is a language we are all born with. The birds’ calls layered with the rhythm of my footsteps mirrored Wooten’s belief that music is not something separate from life but woven into it. For children, this reinforces the idea that sound is not limited to instruments or structured lessons but found in every corner of their world.

Movement:

The best part of my country visit was watching the motion of the lake, how the ripples spread when the ducks swam and when the wind blew. I felt like moving along with it. Moving closer to the lake made me feel I’m part of it, the cold breeze touching my face and the pond smell filled around me, reminding me of ‘Wala is life’ (2018) which presents movement as both cultural expression and a way of embodying knowledge.

For children, such movement connects them to the world kinaesthetically. They can copy the waddling of ducks, swaying of the trees and soaring of the birds. Ruth Wilson (2018, pp. 1–18) emphasises that children’s well-being and learning are enriched through such embodied encounters with nature, where movement allows them to connect emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

Drama:

As I was wandering in my country visit, my imagination led to build a story in my head. I began to pretend to be a goose and think to myself what a goose thought about us humans. Along my walk when I heard the birds flying over and chirping, I felt like spreading my arms and flying over the branches. These movements and my artefacts pics inspired me to come up with my story of the royal goose family.

Children, too, thrive in this dramatic imagination. They might pretend to be a frog and jump between lily pads, or be a fish and blow bubbles, to act out a story in the magical lake as an enchanted world. Maybe the traffic hum can transform into outer space. This act of role-play gives them freedom to explore identity, empathy, and creativity. Children become part of the story themselves, interacting with imaginary creatures or guiding adventures.

Future Practice:

By connecting to Dadirri, Victor Wooten’s view of music as language, Wala Is Life and Ruth Wilson’s insights on nature and well-being, I can design experiences that honour both cultural knowledge and children’s innate creativity. In doing so, I encourage children not just to hear but to listen, not just to watch but to embody, and not just to play but to shift perspectives, opening themselves to the many stories the world is waiting to tell.

For my future practise, these understandings of soundscapes, movement and drama can be deeply valuable. As a teacher I would integrate listening, movement, and dramatic activities such as nature walks where children can mimic what they hear, move to the rhythm or to an animal by copying their movement. Use story books or audio clips of nature and the animals to act out a role play.

Through these practices, children learn to connect playfully with place, developing a sensory awareness, and appreciate the temporal and relational nature of their environment. This fosters creativity, empathy for the natural world, and an openness to multiple perspectives, all key dispositions for lifelong learning.

My storytelling is a form of temporal art, my story existed in the moment, shaped by what was seen, heard, and imagined then and there, I realised no two visits will produce the same story, because the sounds and the children’s interpretation shifts constantly.

Honk like a goose,

Honk, Honk, Honk!

Flap like a bird,

Flap, Flap, Flap!

Waddle like a duck,

Waddle, Waddle, Waddle!

Leap like a frog,

Leap, Leap, Leap!