Words Fail Me

It snowed overnight.
The mountains encircling Glenorchy were blanketed with snow.  Every view from every angle from every spot in the Glenorchy Lake House was majestic.

The scars of World War I are visible in all parts of the British Empire.  Even in sleepy lakeside towns half a world away from the trenches.

The lake is fed by a muddle of streams and rivers flowing down from the mountains to the north.The landscape is a dead ringer for Scotland.Cold……and lonely……and beautiful.
I was amused by this stile over a livestock fence. A storm started to blow in, blanketing the higher mountains with even more snow.

I found these compost, recycle, and trash bins amusing.  Can’t decide if, as a child, I would find them delightful or if I would find them feeding my nightmares.

Part of what I enjoy about traveling is intentionally becoming lost.  In Glenorchy, I had the chance to look up at the Southern sky.  I picked out the Southern Cross but other than that — not knowing any other constellations, not being able to name a single star — I was utterly, completely, delightfully lost.  For the first time since I was a small child, the sky was illegible.  It was like being transported to a distant solar system or into Earth’s distant past or future.

I blew through the ski resort town of Queenstown and drove the lonely road skirting Lake Wakatipu.
Beautiful snow-capped mountains in every direction.
The sun started setting as I approached the northern end of the lake.