On a (almost secret) dirt road so rarely used it’s more animal corridor than track, you learn to scan. Rabbits bolt, sheep stare, bull ants cascade over your shoes if you stop too long, flies make a helmet of sound, and sometimes a fox ghosts across the paddock. Today there was something “else.” My Labradoodle froze - ears forward, breath held. I assumed brown snake - the one that really matters. Only after a long, patient look did the outline resolve: a goanna, perfectly camouflaged among sticks and earth. The giveaway was a tail that read as “snake” to my nervous system.

Nature is good at hiding.

So are we.

There’s a brief window in the Barossa when the trails come alive. The air feels softer, the light sharper, and out of nowhere, wildflowers scatter across the paths like small acts of defiance. I stopped mid-run to take this photo — a simple track bordered by yellow blooms, leading toward the shaded forest ahead.

Whether you’re navigating running or life, gradients matter. They’re what make the landscape interesting — the gentle slopes that let you find rhythm, the steep climbs that make you dig deep, and the smooth descents that remind you how far you’ve come.

Change, growth, healing — they’re never a single “turning point.” They’re gradients. Shifts in effort, energy, and perspective. Sometimes subtle, sometimes breathtaking. That’s what this work is about.