The Power of a Change of Place

It has happened again. A couple of days away in our campervan, and I’ve come back with a new tale to tell.

It is not something that actually happened – thankfully – but it was definitely inspired by the place we stayed and what we experienced there. It is a unique tale, then, which would not have been conceived anywhere else.

You’ll have to wait a while to read ‘Badger Hill’, as I’ve submitted it for a competition with my local writers’ group and don’t want to disqualify my entry through conflicting ideas about what constitutes ‘prior publication’.

It’s a little darker than most of my output, although it starts off innocuously enough. A woman receives a minor injury at the end of the first stage of a multi-day hike. At least the campground is idyllic …

But I didn’t come here to retell the tale. The point is: a change of place is so often refreshing for our senses, our imaginings, our art as writers. It can free us from the tyranny of everyday tasks, the distractions of social media and the stultifying blankness of our computer screen demanding to be filled with words.

In this instance, we stayed in a little place in the Otway Ranges, called Forrest. Appropriately enough, it’s in the forest. Were the early settlers orthographically challenged, or was there a Mr / Ms Forrest, I wonder?

Here are a few photos. Most of them are taken from the campground, as an unfortunate incident (which found its way into the story) limited my mobility.

Ruined buildings always make me wonder about the people who lived or worked in them.
The view from our campsite
Crimson Rosella
Grey Shrike-Thrush – nondescript appearance, but what a song!
Just meadow grasses – but pretty
What a cutie! Our little campervan

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