holiday

(a blogthis entry)

The trees were moist, damp, alive... radiant green where the thin layers of wax gave in to penetrating rain, breathing heavily as they took us into their arms.

After 3 days of driving, stopping for breaks of new air and sun, we arrived at the sleepy town of Halls Gap, meeting the visiting November rain for a conclave in the mountainous Grampians.

Dismay might have beckoned but something not entirely aethereal was keeping me from being so.

As we dropped our luggage, the warmth of the plush hotel suite and room-for-2 jacuzzi strongly tempted but we pushed on with an easy consensus, driving, winding, to the top of the mountain.

As we arrived at the lookout area, my companion remained behind, warm in the car, seat back and curled up.

We were alone up here.

The rain kicked up a notch but this was only encouraging. Nothing would deter me.

I walked through the mist, breathing deeply as I went. Upon reaching the very tip of the lookout path, I leaned against the railing, stared straight ahead and down into the grey abyss where an expansive vista would have otherwise occupied - hidden - and absorbed the sight before me, held by the clouds:

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