I don't often enjoy being in airports during the day, but they're a different place by night. Calmer, slower, quieter. Less hostile to mental space.
That was the end of the Tassie trip. I flew home and watched the orange grids of street lights drift away below, back to a familiar bed and a solid sleep.
A day, hours unabridged, watching planes rise impossibly from the ground.
Reaching Hobart in the evening, Ryoji Ikeda's Spectra ghostly blue in the foggy sky. Mount Wellington was too thickly covered to reach the lookout, so we turned back and settled in for the night. Out the next morning to await a plane to the mainland, and then another for me on to home.
Heading to Hobart, pipes feeding another hydro plant, the Tungatinah Power Station.
From the same location. Then inside the park centre where a couple of flagging but happy staff on working holiday visas served us a warm lunch before we drove into the cold once more.
The calm of Australia's deepest lake, Lake St Clair, as showers approached.