When the path floods ... again
Post-wildflower reflections
I recently wrote about the joy of spring finally breaking through the long Barossa winter — the spectacular gift of wildflowers everywhere, that almost forgotten but so reassuring warmth in the air, a sense of renewal. After weeks, months and kilometres of shivering toil, the trails felt like welcome invitations again — just watch out for the brown & red-bellied black snakes who seem equally desperate to soak up the rays.
This week, the seasons turned on me — again. Violent, swirling wind returned, rain driving sideways, the ground that had almost dried out after months of soakings became slick, sodden and soft once again — hoodie drawstrings tied into a bow under my chin … again. On today's loop, I found freshly liberated branches scattered across the tracks, puddles to leap, and in one low dip, a small stream had re-emerged — quietly reclaiming the path.
No longer counting the colours and shapes of wildflower blooms, running was once again an exercise in critical awareness — scanning ahead, jumping fallen limbs, searching for stable, unsodden, non-slip ground. It’s strange how quickly nature shifts from beauty to chaos — and how both are, in truth, the same process.
As the frustration threatened to irritate me, I spotted a kangaroo standing alert with her joey, watching me from the safety of the trees — calm in the midst of disorder.
A little further on, the brand new wreckage of a car lay against a gum tree on a gravel access road. The occupants, visiting from overseas (so they told me), had been caught out by the Barossa’s unsealed roads and unpredictable wind. A reminder of how fragile control really is.
Back on the trail, I sat by a quiet, re-emergent stream that - like me - had thought its winter work was done. I let the water’s sound do its thing to my soul. In counselling, we might call it “meeting what is” — not fighting the return of chaos, but recognising it as just another part of the cycle. The storms don’t erase the spring; they actually make it more real.
It’s like that in therapy, too — and in life. Progress isn’t a straight line — it’s an ever-surprising and uneven path that floods, clears, and floods again even harder than before. Sometimes, the work is just finding a way through the puddles with a little more steadiness and resilience each time.
If you’re navigating one of those flooded seasons, Gradient Counselling Barossa Valley is another stream-like space to pause, breathe, and reflect — to notice the trickling water, not dwell or drown in it. Because within the chaos, the current still moves forward.