STORY

I stand before the Burra Homestead, its rusted roof glistening under the soft, diffused light of an overcast sky. The wind moves through the open fields, a silent witness to the passage of time. The landscape stretches endlessly, rolling green and brown hills folding into the distance, creating a sense of quiet isolation.

This place once held life voices echoing through its weathered walls, footsteps worn into the earth, the smell of rain-drenched soil in the air. Now, the farmhouse stands alone, its windows empty, its doorways leading to rooms long abandoned. The hills remain unchanged, but the stories within these walls are fading.

I frame my shot, capturing not just a building, but the weight of history, the resilience of the land, and the beauty of solitude