my stories
Over the next little while, I’ll be telling a few tall tales from our recent trip to Tasmania.
When I came home from the trip, I had a small list of ideas for the virtual bonfire that is Scrine. We were only away a week or so, so the list is not long.
I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t done the same for our big trip last year. After a month away, there was so much food for thought it was a feast. I certainly intended to share some of that time away, but each time I came to write my head was too full of strong images and intense emotions. In the end, the wintery and intense feeling of belonging and then the feeling of no longer being there was all I wrote about.
I know, in part, this is because some of the places we visited are far too devastating a tale for me to do the story justice. I think it is also because they are not my story to tell.
It might also be that my home, unbearably hot as I often find it to be, is inherently my home. It’s where I find it easiest to think.
Still, if I attempt to be honest with myself, it’s probably just about the mechanics. When I travel through places like France, Poland and Russia much of my available brain activity is spent panicking over whether I can correctly order a coffee, read a street sign or ask for help.
Yet, I haven’t given up. I’m hoping that the next few tales of traverses in Tasmania will help untangle the tales from Europe.
It will be fun trying. A road paved with tales. Are you packed and ready to go?
Let’s see if I am.
Your Turn