The Tasmanian is hard-wired for rambling,
Happiest on a windswept beach,
Expectant of absolute desertion.
Wrapped in wool and cocooned in down,
At ease with the wild.

The cool urbanist craves regular escapades
To free the mind aloft rugged mountain peaks.
Having traipsed through silver knots and mottled tea tree
To gaze endlessly across a landscape steeped in ancient delight,
That counsels all troubles and fuels quiet intelligence.

Silent mountain lakes mirror the unexpected,
Reflecting the glow that emerges beyond the darkness.
Birthing the curious, unchaining the imagination
To wander amongst the fierceness, pausing amid the labyrinth of vales and glades
Laden with heaving trunks of pine and myrtle.

The Tasmanian is unencumbered by doubt.
An ethical master of worldly proportions
Whose quiet determination draws strength from its elemental surrounds.
Unassuming. Respectful of the seasons,
And of the wrongs of dark island history.

Gorging on nature’s rich bounty,
Fortified with the pristine. Flavours linger.
Salty wilds. Dark tannins. Lush pastures.
Spirits infused with native botanicals,
Elsewhere unfounded.

Warm smiles, honest thoughts, creative hearts.
Kindred tones of fresh khaki and deep cobalt
Bind this island of extraordinary beings
Who hover quietly together
At the bottom of the world.