Hunter Valley

Personal 16 January 2016

My lungs expanded as I breathed in the rural air and immersed myself in everything and nothing at all.

Hunter Valley has always been one of those places that boast vast lands with gorgeous, crisp air unparalleled elsewhere — the obvious reason for this is that it has multiple vineyards. Only having recently become of age to drink, it hadn’t really been a travel destination I had any real longing to go to. Before the university semester resumed however, drinking seemed essential. I half jest.

It went something like this.

The rain pelted against the windscreen of our car as we furiously struggled to gain clear vision of the highway. Cars were zooming by and the wind was strong. The wipers were at full speed. The land was vast and the fog lingered ever so prominently. I gazed silently through the blurry glass and attempted to take it all in — the rain, the animals scattered across the fields, the perfectly cut greens, the mountains hidden behind thick layers of fog, the low-hanging clouds, the crisp air that cut through the gloom. All of it.

These three hour road trips worked wonders — feeling my lungs expand as I breathed in the rural air and immersed myself in everything and nothing at all. I stared at a sea of grapevines, a tsunami of greens reaching out from a distance. The land was vast like the ocean, the land and sky melted into one, almost impossible for eyes to fathom this varsity with a thick blanket of fog hanging loosely over the picturesque landscape. I hadn’t left the place yet and I had already planned my next return. I bottled all the senses and will cling onto it until I come back.