'Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.' - Mary Oliver, 'Wild Geese' In the hot, still, heavy-with-humidity mornings of Australia’s Top End, the autumn of London feels a long way away, as if a lifetime ago. After the months spent churning over the decision to move, and the months after that of seemingly endless logistics and reams of paperwork to complete, I am no longer in London. A fact both startling and somewhat exhilarating; the unknown future beckons.
The liminal spaces of leaving
The liminal spaces of leaving
The liminal spaces of leaving
'Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.' - Mary Oliver, 'Wild Geese' In the hot, still, heavy-with-humidity mornings of Australia’s Top End, the autumn of London feels a long way away, as if a lifetime ago. After the months spent churning over the decision to move, and the months after that of seemingly endless logistics and reams of paperwork to complete, I am no longer in London. A fact both startling and somewhat exhilarating; the unknown future beckons.