By Jackie Moss
There’s a special place on the Bass Coast that I approach with joyous anticipation every time I visit.
I feel like a kid again.
To get there is an adventure in itself.
I pass through the gates and walk beneath a canopy of tea tree; detouring off the track momentarily onto a sandy beach before following the boardwalk as it skims across the salt bush. On the bridge my shadow reflects into the dark tannin stained, still water of the creek.
Pacing ahead, I veer right and then left, curling up a steady, heart pumping incline.
I’m nearly there.
Around the bend a little way, and there before me stands the most magnificent big tree. Living and breathing, limbs encompassing. I can feel her, even without touching.
Here I can connect with nature.
There’s a special place on the Bass Coast that I approach with joyous anticipation every time I visit.
I feel like a kid again.
To get there is an adventure in itself.
I pass through the gates and walk beneath a canopy of tea tree; detouring off the track momentarily onto a sandy beach before following the boardwalk as it skims across the salt bush. On the bridge my shadow reflects into the dark tannin stained, still water of the creek.
Pacing ahead, I veer right and then left, curling up a steady, heart pumping incline.
I’m nearly there.
Around the bend a little way, and there before me stands the most magnificent big tree. Living and breathing, limbs encompassing. I can feel her, even without touching.
Here I can connect with nature.