There's no place like home
When we're lost, we can always find our way home. Home is what we know, what we cherish, and what we yearn for after traveling away. Home should be a sanctuary that brings happiness and triggers great memories from the past. There is simply no place that compares to the Mornington Peninsula of South Eastern Victoria in Australia,
The beaches are welcoming, scenic and full of life. From Frankston all the way down to Sorrento, there is a beach every hundred or so meters. Standing on a hill in the suburb of Rye, you're able to see the bay when you look to the north, and then the open ocean to the south. This image was taken underneath the pier at Frankston Beach. Willow (my dog and 6th member of the family) ventured down underneath the pier where all the common folk were going about their daily walks. We both sat for a good 30 minutes and just observed the slightest of waves roll in towards out feet. Willow was in no rush to move, and I was happy to not intervene with her peace.
Ahh, the Frankston Train Line. A place where shooting up in public is a common thing. I certainly have had a few stories to tell from taking these trains to and from Melbourne's CBD. Yet this eventful ride to the city is a part of the diverse culture that surrounds my home town. Everyone knows about this train line. They know of its reputation, yet they use it 24/7. Its a convenient yet outlandish way to get around. The many signs that detail what to do and what not to do reappear at every second door, which are neglected none the less. Beer is still consumed, while both feet are hoisted up on each chair. The so called 'train police' who patrol the individual carts, try and the common university student for any kind of violation they can conjure up, just to make our lives that little bit harder. They think they're so tough as they carry their bullet point pen and limited authority.
The unique and calming Sweetwater Creek that runs directly behind my house in Frankston is a place of true serenity. The sounds of the birds and the water trickling through the ancient rocks is something quite majestic. The 'granities' was the main area that I would go to as a kid. I'd play in the small puddles and climb the trees on the slippery hill on the side of the creek. When it rained the previous night, the water would be ravaging down the small waterfalls. We would go down to our little spot, make small boats out of whatever materials we could find and watch them get absolutely destroyed along the small but viscous rapids. Upon my return from America, I would take Shadow, Indy (now deceased) and Willow down for regular walks. Depending on the weather and my daily feeling on the day, we would take either the path that ran parallel to Fleetwood Crescent, the one that lead to the granities via the wobbly bridge, or the way that led down to the beach, which was personally my favourite. Although, I think the dogs loved it more than I did.
