Meandering

I remember the drone of the engine amongst the sounds of tyres humming on bitumen and the voices of my family lulling me to sleep. We had been driving for a long time, I was content, I felt secure.

I had turned 5, four months ago, I lay nestled in the back of my parents old station wagon, worn suitcases stacked around me. We are on our way to the oceanliner HMAS Australis. We were emigrating to Australia. Emigrating often can mean fleeing from that which cannot be outrun.