"Through the fruit we might get to know the plant better. And if that, then why not concern ourselves with the whole ecological habitat in which this piquant fruit comes to being – to learn about how it relates to rainfall, soil, fungal filaments, pollenating insects; oxygen, light, others in its own species, us?"

A variety of plants are putting out fruit in the bush around the train carriage in which I live. Join me for yarns about different fruit, and how our encounters with these can lead us into an understanding of ecology.

"He told me to forget my notes. You can’t go around foreign countries pretending to understand what you see, especially when you come from the west. What about a nice love story? We Indians, he said, we like a good love story. He went on: especially here in Bombay."

This is a story set in India. But much more it is the story of a young man travelling into his own naïve ideas and emerging with eyes wide open -- and a strange obsession for telling stories.

This work uses field recordings made throughout Maharashtra in 2011-2. The recordings were made in streets, temples and quadrangles and on public transport. Music was recorded with the knowledge of performers. I have no way of tracking them down, but I would like to give a hearty thanks to everyone whose music is included in this production.

"Legend has it that there’s an island in a lake on a walking track in the Tasmanian highlands on which, on a lucky day – and if you’re game enough to swim out there in the cool temperature of an alpine lake – you might find a beer. The Isle of Ale, they call it. A mysterious, magical place."

My train carriage shack is not far from the centre of Tasmania. From here I can ponder how islands are strange, fortuitous, curious places.

"I have seen currawongs come together in great restive gatherings, a score of them or more, babbling in their garbled language, yapping and arguing, talking over the top of each other. How is it that such sounds well up in them? How do they push these songs through their throats? And what is it that they’re saying?"

I am lucky to live in the midst of a forest full of birds. Among other curiosities, I find myself pondering what we I can learn from their strange languages.

"For a very long time humans have entrusted memories to rocks, transferred stories to stone and had it tell our tales throughout the ages."

Great quantities of stone are scattered around the train carriage in which I live. Behind me is a mountain range of dolerite, and there are rocks of all sorts of shapes and sizes in my memory.

"The gusts and gales imprint themselves on one’s memory; as with those trees you might see in exposed spots, that bend or lean or bear a hunchback, our experiences in different locations are pruned and shaped by winds. Even the gentle breezes bring reminiscences."

In Tasmania we've had some windy weather. From my train carriage in the bush I watch the birds and trees wrestle with the gusts that blow through from south and west. It prompts thoughts about memory, connection, and climate.

"All I needed was some movement, and something to move towards. A place of wooden shingles in which to etch an alphabet of memories, to record the names of those I’ve loved."

For years I've spent time around Liffey, Tasmania. It's a place that has prompted all sorts of ideas about land, country, habitat, houses and home.

This work is a collaboration with musician Thomas Mitchell, who has produced original work for this project, as well as opening up his own cabin in the bush for further reflections on this topic.

"So the road trip yet again had me contemplating things slowly. Stillness has made me often think of movement, and now I learned that it was true when the concepts were put vice versa too. It was as though I’d travelled 1000km to go nowhere."

At long last I left the train carriage, to go on a road trip, somewhere that was simply elsewhere. And then I came back again.

"I am realising that at some point I must come to terms with the fact that some separations will never again be sutured up. I have plotted out much of my life in the past ten years with travel in mind, and although partings are commonplace, I am always thinking of returning to certain countries, of reuniting with old friends and revisiting past experiences. But now I am in a train carriage, going nowhere, and realising that in all likelihood there are people I will never see again, good mates, worthy companions."

Living in a train carriage out in the bush, I find myself thinking about the meaning of separation, of being apart.

"But in the end, from map to map, these landscapes have been altered by the decisions made about what to do with the land."

I have gone looking through my box of maps to find what stories lie within the lands sketched out in them. Join me on the journeys I take through these countries of many colours.