"For me, in this state of isolation and distance, holding on to some things has some value. Not cutting myself completely adrift, even as I decide not to read the news so much, even if I might go a couple of days without seeing anyone. I’m choosing to cultivate the tendrils that tether me to this colourful Earth."

I live alone in an old train carriage that has been converted into a shack. Here, in a state of quiet and solitude, I tell stories.

“These moments by the river. The branches shimmering in the wind. Ducks navigating downstream towards the sea. Even if I might speak of it all prematurely in the past tense – I was lucky now.”

I am a live in a train carriage in the bush, watching the seasons change. These are the stories I want to share from my solitude.

"The roads we turn away from we probably won’t encounter again. There are ways we remember from a while ago – usually they’ve vanished without a trace, become overgrown routes, or barred with boom gates."

I live in an old train carriage in Tasmania. It goes nowhere but I take many journeys nevertheless.

"The rug's been pulled out from beneath all of us...discovering new ways of doing things. Going from day to day. Unable to resort to our habits. Working with fewer resources. Downsizing, and plumbing the depths of ourselves."

My name is Bert. I am a storyteller who live in a train carriage in the bush.