Sunset at the Twelve Apostles of the Great Ocean RoadAs the clouds leave the cold has intensified and I am wearing a jacket, scarf and hooded. I don't wear gloves because they would make it impossible for me to pound the keyboard.
We arrived at the viewpoint of the Twelve Apostles with the last lights of the afternoon, when the horizon burned in flames and there was hardly anyone left by the catwalks. I thought it would be the prettiest image I was going to see in a long time. Those rock giants abandoned on the shore, separated from the cliffs by the force of wind and water that have been eroding the rock for thousands of years until they managed to isolate them. The sea, which seems to be in a state of perennial fury in this place, continues to hit the bases of the giants as trying to collect a debt that goes back to the times when Australia was not Australia but part of Antarctica, or Pangea; or when the giants crossed the continents in great strides contouring the coasts with their footsteps. I do not know.
I thought it would take time to see something more beautiful.
It took me only a few hours. I can't think of many places to sleep that are more special than this. Tonight I have gone down to the sand and walked along a deserted beach where the Apostles have been silent witnesses of dozens of shipwrecks. Anonymous drowned whose souls, they say, still roam these parts in search of comfort. I can't give it to them, but at least I've kept them company walking with them in the witch hour of the night, when everyone sleeps and the Moon watches.
The battery of the laptop is no more. I'm going down for another walk that, I think, I can never repeat. I will never forget this place and this moment. The things in life that make you give thanks for being alive and, at the same time, make you feel a speck of insignificant dust in a Cosmos that we will never understand.