A long while ago, beneath the quiet skies of Inglewood, Victoria, I found myself looking up at a night I still remember.
In those earlier days, I used to travel out to the hostel for home visits, when medicine was still shaped by the warmth of a face-to-face conversation, and a doctor’s journey often led through sleepy country towns and open paddocks. The work took me there, but sometimes the landscape offered its own quiet reward.
That night, the darkness was almost absolute — a vast, unbroken field scattered with hay bales, their pale forms resting like forgotten stones beneath the heavens. With so little light to disturb the sky, the Milky Way emerged in all its quiet splendour, a river of stars flowing above the sleeping countryside.
I remember the stillness of it all: the scent of the paddocks, the deep country silence, and the feeling that time had briefly slowed down.
Some photographs preserve a landscape. Others hold a small fragment of a life that has since moved on. This one brings back those old journeys, when the road was longer, the nights were darker, and the stars seemed just a little closer.
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