I just realised, as silly as this delayed thought might seem, but I just realised that most of the things I’ve got written down from my trip are half fiction, half truth. And they’re not really stories more like captured moments, framed with words. I guess I was just a little stunned by the abstract beauty in front of me. I was surprised.
The countryside is like a chessboard. Where each black quar represents a green acre and each white represents a dry patch of golden grass. The only difference is that there are more white squares than black. For a moment I think, am I really looking at an Australian countryside?