​Barossa Valley. Drove up from Adelaide this morning. 
Dry, golden hills rolling by. Arrived in Tanunda. 
Walked the rows of gnarled old shiraz vines. 
Plump grapes hanging heavy, waiting for harvest. 
The earth smelled of sunbaked clay.
Met the winemaker in the cellar door. 
Tasted a flight of his reds. 
Flavors of blackberry, pepper, leather. 
Bought a few bottles.
Nightcap on the cottage porch. 
Stars bright above the inky hills. 
The hush of a place in tune with the land's rhythms.
Simplicity. Honesty. 
Beauty in the everyday. 
That's the Barossa.

​I went to Kangaroo Island. 
Off Australia's south coast. 
Took the ferry from Cape Jervis. 
Drove my car onboard.
Cliffs and beaches. 
Eucalyptus and she-oaks. 
Koalas dozing in trees. 
Seals basking on rocks.
Kangaroos, of course. Mobs of them. 
Bounding across fields. Silhouettes at dusk. 
Emus too. Big birds. Flightless.
Stayed in a cabin. Rustic. Quiet. 
Hiked the trails. Rugged beauty. Unspoiled.
Kangaroo Island. Raw nature. Solitude. 
I breathed it in. Let the wildness restore me. 
Until the ferry took me back.