Seven hours and thirty-six minutes was the Google maps prediction though of course it took a little longer than that to drive from our door to Canberra, ACT. Following the Hume in snake’s path upward before hooking back to Kingston, to our final destination, we drove past white bleached grass and crops, past fire-blackened trees sporting new growth like green legwarmers or furry jumper sleeves on long limbs, their green shoots giving curious impression. Past black cows with their velvety hides, sheep grazing and camouflaged in part, and horses surveying their pocket of the earth, we made for the capital to see the Post Impressionists borrowed from the Musée d’Orsay. To see Bonnard’s Intimacy (Portrait of Monsieur and Madame Claude Terrasse), Villard’s Sleep, Hammershøi’s Rest, Gauguin’s Breton village in the snow, Pissaro’s Hoarfrost, peasant girl making a fire, and van Gogh’s Caravans, gypsy camp near Arles before sitting at Cézane’s Kitchen table (Still-life with basket) with its red, green and yellow fruit. Barefoot and seated in the back of the car, my legs tucked up underneath me, eyes straining to drink in the imagery flashing past, we left not long after morning broke, at 6:15, our spirits high. A road trip, as any film or book or own experience will tell, is good for many things, but best of all, best of all it is good for putting things in perspective and seeing things anew.
{Quickly captured moments from there and back again.}
