Exactly two years ago today, I was walking the tracks around Cradle Mountain. I threaded a path across frost-crusted plains, my footprints cracking the icy surface as though I was alone here, my warm breath shocking the air around me into tiny clouds, disappearing too fast. The sky was soft and grey, and despite clouds trailing their bellies across my path, there was a clarity about the place, and, after a time, within me. I felt at home here, amongst the jagged, bare branches and the spindly grass.

I left that place the same day, but I carry it with me; I am always trying to thread that same path, back to clarity, back to calm, back to a single path of footprints that lead me to home…