On a moist, semi-rainy day with nothing to spend but time a trip into the mountains seemed a bright idea, and a trip to an amusingly named rainforest venue doubly so.
And so, to Mount Mee, you have to drive through Dayboro then up a winding road that takes you along the ridge of the mountains, through banks of mist, the droplets settling gently before wiping away on intermittent.
As place names go, it's up there with Mount Superbus, named I imagine after a particularly huge and/or souped-up double-decker. The sort that would have a poster or two of Cliff Richard emblazoned upon it.
I walked through some rainforest, the palms thick and dense, the bark on the gums shiny with wetness, the rain a white noise up there in the treetops. No birdsong, no rustlings in the undergrowth, mud underfoot, the ferns trembling as the occasional raindrop fell to earth.
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