Here is the journalling that won:
Sometimes, as I stand gazing out over snow capped peaks in Scotland, and feel the cold wind on my face, I marvel about how fate has brought a girl, born and bred in the remote Australian outback, to such an alien environment. At such times it is strangely easy for my thoughts to wander back to my beginnings in an environment that is the total antithesis to the one in which I am standing…..
I am five years old. I wake early in the morning to the sound of silence, broken only by the loud cawing of crows. Although early in the morning, the heat is already oppressive and I can tell it is going to be another long, stifling, hot day. I hear my mother and get out of bed. My mother is sweeping up the red dust that has seeped through all the gaps and crevices of our corrugated iron homestead. The dust clings to my nostrils. I sit on an old iron shearer’s bed on the veranda and look into the distance at the flat, red, dusty plain that stretches out as far as the eye can see. It is a harsh and unforgiving landscape, and yet has a beauty all of its own. This is Binerah Downs, the land of my family, my spiritual home.