The little beach track
91cm x 61cm oil on canvas
She found it by accident—just a break in the bushes. A narrow, sandy path, barely worn, curling between the tea trees and tangled grass. It looked like it had been forgotten, or maybe never meant to be found at all.
Each step crunched softly beneath her feet. The breeze smelled of salt and sun-warmed wood. Birds called overhead, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the hush-hush of waves.
The track curved gently, leading her deeper. The world behind her—the noise, the rush, the phone always buzzing—began to fade. She breathed in, deeper than she had in days.
And then, the trees opened. The sky widened. Before her, the ocean spread out, endless and blue, meeting the sand in a silver line.
She stood there a moment, toes at the edge of possibility, and smiled.
Some tracks don’t need signs.
They just need to be followed.
91cm x 61cm oil on canvas
She found it by accident—just a break in the bushes. A narrow, sandy path, barely worn, curling between the tea trees and tangled grass. It looked like it had been forgotten, or maybe never meant to be found at all.
Each step crunched softly beneath her feet. The breeze smelled of salt and sun-warmed wood. Birds called overhead, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the hush-hush of waves.
The track curved gently, leading her deeper. The world behind her—the noise, the rush, the phone always buzzing—began to fade. She breathed in, deeper than she had in days.
And then, the trees opened. The sky widened. Before her, the ocean spread out, endless and blue, meeting the sand in a silver line.
She stood there a moment, toes at the edge of possibility, and smiled.
Some tracks don’t need signs.
They just need to be followed.
91cm x 61cm oil on canvas
She found it by accident—just a break in the bushes. A narrow, sandy path, barely worn, curling between the tea trees and tangled grass. It looked like it had been forgotten, or maybe never meant to be found at all.
Each step crunched softly beneath her feet. The breeze smelled of salt and sun-warmed wood. Birds called overhead, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear the hush-hush of waves.
The track curved gently, leading her deeper. The world behind her—the noise, the rush, the phone always buzzing—began to fade. She breathed in, deeper than she had in days.
And then, the trees opened. The sky widened. Before her, the ocean spread out, endless and blue, meeting the sand in a silver line.
She stood there a moment, toes at the edge of possibility, and smiled.
Some tracks don’t need signs.
They just need to be followed.