Reception Lost

It is half an hour before our receiver can pick up any signal to get us to the internet. Four adults in a parked car on a street somewhere in South Australia, a computer in each lap, quietly busily whiling away precious minutes with the outside world.

The days in between are spent in the hammock, on a hike, watching dolphins, writing television, watching the sun set from a panorama window, taking pictures, getting angry, getting giddy, sleeping soundly, showering outdoors from the rainwater tank, mentally preparing for a day when this is all over.

Surprisingly, none of these days are filled with words. Surprisingly, my pen lies still by my bedside table. And however much I love this trip, part of me misses the person bursting with words. Part of me misses me.

I cannot now comprehend the sadness of leaving this land. But I anxiously await the happiness of homecoming. If I don't write another letter until then, I don't think it matters, in the end.