A fierce wind blows across the bay, bending the delicate stems of the seeding grass. Grey green waves smash into the black rock groynes and the base of the esplanade. Reflected at angles they interfere destructively, constructively, throwing up fountains of white, seaweed scented, spray. Thrusting in and out, a deliciously chaotic dance.

In the background, a blue Korean Air Boeing 777 lifts into the sky, dips its wings, then continues upwards towards the clouds. I daydream that I am aboard, though I have only flown on their recently merged competitor, Asiana to Korea. The annoying pop song that was stuck in my head is pushed out by the Asian themed music of that short visit.

Oh, to set off on an adventure like that again! Seven countries in a couple of weeks.

But it has only been a week and a few days since returning from our last holiday, a drive down to Adelaide and back via Victoria along roads that once bored us, but now we rejoice in the vast flat plains, where one can gaze uninterrupted towards the distant horizon.

This is what being trapped in a valley for two years has done to us. We cannot complain about our daily view, no, for we certainly have a good one. But it is limited and hides the possibilities, the temptations, the dreams beyond.

The other part of pandemic life is the silence, the avoidance of crowds and other people. For many it is a burden, for me it is a joy. Out there on the inland plains, the tiny towns, the isolation of the Coorong, there the emptiness and silence continues. You cannot catch the disease if there is nobody around to give it to you.

Like waves, people can constructively or destructively interfere. Sometimes it makes life interesting. Other times you need the peace and serenity of Lake Albert at the start of the day, where the only ripples in life are from the wind over the water and a pelican gliding past.