For many, the land down under is a mystery. A place filled with golden haired humans,
surfboards, and thick, amusing accents. For me, it’s the familiar. As for anyone, I know my
hometown intimately well. I know the way she smells on a warm December evening. I know
the way she sighs as the sun sets in a flurry of yellows and oranges. I know the way she
smiles at the sounds of crickets and kookaburras.
Like any hometown, she moves like clockwork. I can predict her every move. Tourists in
January. Quiet beaches in April. Brisk winds in August. Jacaranda blossoms in November.
From beach to countryside, she flirts with the camera, flashing a wink and a smile. At every
street corner, at every coffee shop, at every turn, she makes you draw a breath. And she
laughs along. Because every time I return, it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.
A hometown I know like the back of my hand. A hometown I can predict all too well. Yet
somehow, she never fails to surprise.
Words and Photos by Zoe King