Another foggy morning, and I am drawn into the Araucaria forest. Everywhere, green dissolves into the fog. It's autumn in an evergreen world, but the cassia splashes the green canvas with its gold, and the red road vanishes to a point beyond the rise.
A track deviates into a clearfelled area where the fog is thicker, and where young eucalypts have been planted by the foresters, and encompassed by the tall walls of hoop pine.
This is my heritage, and I love it.