travel is an attitue, a state of mind. it is not residence, it is motion.
– paul theroux
victor harbor heritage trail, south australia.
we walked down steep steps, one by one. i walked and i didn’t think much. it was easy. it was beautiful. it was bushland and shrubbery and dry australiana. it was crisp. leaves crunched under my feet.
the further down we walked, the cooler, the damper, the fresher it became. until we reached the water. in the gorge.
we walked off the track. through the overgrowth, under the vines and branches and trees blocking our way. we walked over boulders and leaped from rock to rock, one slip would mean wetness to our knees and laughing off embarrassment. the sun on our backs we walked and leapt and tried not to slip.
the hills of the gorge grew tall either side of us, of the river, of me, milly and sam. they grew into the sky. i felt so small. feeble. no clouds passed above us. i sat and i asked milly to listen.
we stopped for a minute, we felt like fools. fools of nature, laughing at us in the wind through the trees, the running water filling itself, the crunch of sam’s steps in the dirt on the rocks, the frogs in the rock pools. birds above our heads.
it was incredible, breathtaking, unbelievable. frighteningly serene. we were alone.