there’s nothing like a road trip

I’ve been away. For about a hundred years. Out of Melbourne. Driving. Me and My Lovely One.

He drove, mostly, and I mostly tucked my legs up and chose the music.

We stopped at country op-shops for bargains that made my heart beat a little faster… battered boots and leather satchels and shiny dresses.

At one place, three flannel shirts hung, a little crumpled, a little sad, each labelled carefully…Tom Way. I wondered why these shirts were so gently named. And then I wondered why they were all sitting together in the op-shop, waiting hopefully for a new home. And then I wondered what had happened to Tom. And then I felt too sad so couldn’t think about it any more.

We hunted down local bakeries for vegie pasties and apple cakes. And found good coffee in the unlikeliest of places.

We found a beach.

And a mountain.

I was inspired by random garden archways in front of bleak, little country houses. By the amazing faces staring back. By the green and brown and the blue, blue sky. By the caravan park we found in an old-time whaling-town.

We gossiped and talked dumb stuff and then real stuff and I cried a bit and smiled much more.

There’s nothing like a road trip.