I remember when it really started to fall apart, or put more appropriately when ‘I’ really started to fall apart. September 2007 – I had flown down to Tassie from Melbourne to spend a few days with friends. As the plane descended into Hobart airport I looked out & saw the great Mt Wellington sleeping soundly like a lioness sheltering her cubs – ever vigilant & on the ready to pounce should anyone take advantage of them. And the tears started to creep into my eyes, my stomach began to hurt.
Tasmania…..I love this place, I had come from sunny Queensland but I never really felt a belonging like I did in this wild island state. The tears fell & they never really abated until I left, they were there even when they appeared not to be as the well had finally run dry. Tasmania; where you can dare to be yourself, and if you don’t quite know who that is yet - to find it. I may have spent 29 years in Quennsland but I grew up in Tasmania.
I will return to her someday…I believe I may well even die there. It is & will remain my spiritual ‘Home'. Its old world charm; its light; its winds that blow right through you, maybe it has something to do with being as far south as you can get! Whatever it is….it’s Home.
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