Day 20. Tasmania.
One more day. One more moment of simple, quiet reflection. We are half way now, although the days might blur a little here…
One more day. One more moment of simple, quiet reflection. We are half way now, although the days might blur a little here…
I am starting to feel as though I am between… which is both good, and bad. Happy and sad.
Not many days left now… and I still find myself contemplating what we might mean by ‘old’ and ‘new’ here; is the convict-built house old? Or the tree, planted some time later? Or is ‘old’ the hills, the grass, the history etched into the ground since long before us? And what does ‘old’ mean in the city? Do we make it, or do we find it?
Day 15. Tasmania.
Beauty exists on every scale here; from the unique stripes on a leaf, standing out in a sea of green, through to the play of light bursting through clouds and selecting just the right spot to warm. And I’m leaving it behind – for what kind of beauty? I don’t know. Yet. But I’m convinced that every place has its magic – we just need to learn to see it. That learning starts next week.
A quintessentially Tasmanian image. Bold colours; simple colours. Trees, grass, clouds, and so much sky. Natural and constructed, wrapped around each other with an easy unconsciousness. And it’s all within 10 minutes of a decent sized town. So much to miss when I’m no longer here. And because it’s so easy to find, and so much everywhere here, does that mean I won’t even notice that it’s gone? We’ll see; soon.
Tasmania is so much about colour, which my posts of late have not been. Time for a change. This little guy certainly wasn’t afraid to stand out and be bright, unlike all of the others on the same plant. Never be afraid to stand out. It just means you are that little bit more interesting…
There’s something about the play of light across the sand. It’s not like anywhere I’ve been before – such a blank slate. Or a palimpsest…
It’s a cliche, I know, but the light really is there… um, at the end… of course, if you want to get there, you have to go through 100 metres of dark; smelly, dripping, squelching dark, which is sometimes soft underfoot. And the wind, that howls through the tunnel, daring you to keep going even as it tries to push you back to the start.