Thirty-One Days of Separate Skies

With resigned reluctance, we bid farewell to Penstock Lagoon, our hearts heavy with the knowledge that two days could never satisfy the soul's yearning for a place that had so often become our sanctuary. The Highland Highway stretched before us like a ribbon of memories as we descended, each curve and vista whispering stories of our year-long Tasmanian odyssey. The landscape seemed to mirror our emotions – the highlands gradually giving way to gentler terrain, much like our reluctant transition from wilderness to civilisation.

This bittersweet journey led us to Sorell, whose familiar streets greeted us like an old friend offering both comfort and gentle reminders of impending farewells. At the water station, we filled our tanks with reverence, observing how this simple act had evolved into something sacred during our months on the road – water no longer merely a utility but a precious gift to be honored. In these quiet moments of connection with earth's elements, we reflected on how profoundly Tasmania had changed us, teaching us reverence for resources we once took for granted.

These lessons continued to unfold as we embraced the mundane rituals that now carried deeper meaning – post office errands and laundry transforming into poignant ceremonies of preparation. Each item collected, each garment folded, carried the weight of transition between worlds. The carwash became a sacred space of its own, where we watched months of exploration wash away in rivulets of muddy water – a symbolic cleansing as our bus shed the physical evidence of our wild adventures while we held the memories ever closer within the chambers of our hearts.

Against the backdrop of this emotional cleansing, Simon and Sue's property appeared on the horizon like a promised haven, where our beloved mobile home would rest during our separate journeys. The evening air around us held a strange electricity – that peculiar tension between anticipation and dread that accompanies all significant partings in life's journey. When morning arrived with its cruel 4 AM darkness and the disappointing revelation of no Uber driver, we recognized the universe's final lesson in flexibility – a cornerstone of our nomadic philosophy that would serve us through the coming separation.

The airport drop-off unfolded like the closing scene of a beloved novel, our goodbye carrying the weight of 31 approaching days of separation. Standing beneath the harsh exterior lights, our embrace held volumes of unspoken devotion that transcended the physical space between us. After Anth disappeared toward the terminal entrance, Sal returned to our suddenly-too-quiet bus, the familiar dashboard now a silent witness to this new solitude as she drove back to Simon and Sue's property before calling a more reliable taxi. Her journey to Boomer Bay became a meditation on solitude, the wheels humming a melancholy tune against the Tasmanian asphalt that had carried our shared dreams for so many months.

This separation painted two distinct canvases of experience – Anth's days unfolding against Melbourne's urban backdrop, a jarring contrast to our peaceful wanderings. The trial days moved in a mechanical rhythm – methodical yet lacking true intellectual engagement, each hour marked only by the anticipation of evening's release. In those night hours, games of Blood on the Clocktower offered fleeting connection with strangers, yet paradoxically highlighted the absence of the deepest connection of all, like stars visible only because of surrounding darkness.

When the trial concluded, Anth reconnected with Jack, whom he hadn't seen since that final day in Melbourne before we boarded the ferry to Tasmania. Their conversations over coffee bridged the gap between our old life and new, carrying echoes of farewell hugs and last-minute adventures shared.

Meanwhile, Canberra wrapped Sal in the warm embrace of old friendships, offering a different kind of sanctuary – one woven from laughter over card games, the satisfying crack of pool balls, and conversations that flowed as freely as wine under familiar skies. Her running shoes traced familiar suburban paths, each stride both a testimony to continuity amidst change and a rhythmic reminder of the different pace of life we'd come to cherish. Yet beneath the surface joy of reconnection flowed an undercurrent of longing – for morning coffees shared in ever-changing landscapes, for the gentle rhythm of life with Anth, for the simplicity that had become our shared language of love.

From our separate points on the mainland, we watched with shared anguish as bushfires swept Tasmania's West Coast, consuming the landscapes of Zeehan and Corinna where we had so recently gathered precious memories. Our beloved island's distance became a physical ache, our concern for both people and places binding us across our temporary separation.

When the wheel of time finally brought the moment of reunion, it carried the sweetness of rain after drought, of dawn after endless night. Anth, arriving first to our waiting home, pointing our dormant sanctuary toward the airport once more. The anticipation of completeness hummed through every fiber of his being as he watched for Sal's arrival, his heart quickening with each passing minute until she appeared – not just a partner returning, but the missing half of our shared soul. As we embraced in the shadow of our waiting home, the circle completed itself, our nomadic journey ready to continue with renewed appreciation for the extraordinary life we had built together – one of freedom, connection, and endless discovery that could weather any separation.Read more