With the colours? With driving through the light? With kids telling you it wasn’t them you heard singing and dancing in the night, it was the Ancestors? With the dust? With flying over the country for most of a day? With faces in termite mounds? With returning again and again? With wild horses? With making a cup of tea and watching the sun set three nights in a row? With flood plains? With travel fatigue and the feeling of being caught between worlds? With driving roads you’ve seen from the air and thought, ‘Who would drive that road?’ With spirits? With clouds of nothing? The dream state? With the people who pull you out of it? People connected to this land for thousands of years? With the Tropic of Capricorn? With the realisation that now you’re addicted to those desert colours? That you miss them? With seven years of photos? With looking at those photos at home in the city a day after getting back and wondering if you were ever really there?