Tasmania: hauntingly strange, painfully familiar, achingly far. It has an unsettling call that lashes wildly across ocean and desert; a spirited place with a frozen echo.
The island is both epically beautiful, and sincerely tragic, with rugged and brutal truths that were written in a long forgotten secret language.
Roads weave endlessly over steep rises and around sharp corners; you can feel the lingering nostalgia in the isolation, and hear the land whispering and murmuring to itself through the wind.
It is indescribable, and it is fascinating. It is cryptic, it is desolate, it is lonely. It is perfect.
I can’t wait to feel the cold air on my face.