Of course it's still in the Flinders, but the mind numbing changes in topography and vegetation leave one wondering if one isn't in the centre of some vast landscaped garden. One moment we are walking happily in a sandy creek bed among three hundred year old red gums, then we look up and there's nothing but native pine. The slate grey sky didn't help orient us either.
A few minutes later, we'll be in a lunarscape, devoid of all but what at first glance appears to be lawn, but turns out to be a peculiar green gravel.
© postcards from the road
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