Sunday, 28 August 2016


Johanna and I returned from our 'Tassie week' on Friday night. We caught the skybus into Southern Cross, as we always used to, and for a moment it was as though we were visiting Melbourne and Launceston was still home. It was disorientating. And so was driving in Launceston in my old neighbourhood on streets that are so familiar but I was not in my car and I did not turn into my old driveway. Familiar places and typical routines, but not. A weird kind of feeling.

The last year has been one of 'those years', the kind that exhaust and overwhelm, the kind where you feel assaulted by one thing after another and you wonder when it will stop and how much more you can withstand. I don't feel like doing anything and I don't feel like doing nothing. There is just a weary emptiness. And I don't feel like blogging and I don't feel like taking photographs and perhaps it is time to call a halt. I just do the things that need doing and in the spaces seek solace in walking muddy paths through shades of green and sandy paths alongside the sea...

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