I’ve come to the far-east corner of Victoria to Mallacoota, my favourite place, for some solitude and writing time at the coast. Mallacoota has always been special to me. I was a baby the first time I came here; my parents brought our family here every summer.

Now, although Mum and Dad passed away years ago, the tradition lives on with my siblings and I bringing our own children every year. I love this place. I come here whenever I can get away from the city, and I’m so happy to be here now for a week in winter, when the campgrounds are nearly deserted and the beaches and walking tracks around the inlet and through the national parks are quiet and serene.

I was walking on a surf beach today at sunset, with no one else around. It was wild, with the wind and the spray and big banks of dark clouds moving across the horizon, tinged orange and pink from the lingering rays of winter sun. I loved the wild beauty and the solitude.

I saw two birds flying towards me, and thought they were hawks or eagles, out cruising for a meal. When they drew closer, however, I was surprised to see they were pelicans. Out here, on the surf beach? There were plenty of pelicans a few miles away, on the sheltered waters of the inlet, but I couldn’t recall seeing pelicans fly over the surf like that, not in all my years of visiting Mallacoota. I watched them as they sailed along on the strong gusts – they barely even had to flap their beautiful big wings; they just spread them out wide and soared. They were truly majestic.

As I stared up at them, a thought lodged in my head and wouldn’t go away. “That’s Mum and Dad up there, letting me know they’re around.” Now, I should explain – I’m not religious and I don’t believe in an afterlife, so this stubborn thought was something of a surprise. Occasionally I ponder the question of whether there’s another dimension to be reached after we leave this earthly one. It’s hard to think that the spirit of those we love is completely extinguished when they leave us. But the practical side of me says, “No, we’re just here for a little while. We live our lives, then go to sleep. And that’s it.” So that’s what I believe … mainly.

The two pelicans soared overhead and I stared up at them; buffeted by the wind, with the surf booming and crashing around me and the incoming tide sneaking up to my feet with a swoosh of white foam. My parents loved this place too. Their ashes were scattered in the water only a few miles from where I was standing, and would have been carried by the tide to all the corners of the big inlet where the pelicans live.

My daughter and I have often joked about being reincarnated as pelicans at Mallacoota. I always say it would be the perfect life. They have plenty of shelter, food and company, and nothing to do but paddle and fly around and enjoy the stunning scenery. You see lots of them flying up high in the summer; soaring and playing in the thermals – massive birds that are ungainly on the ground and awkward when they first take flight, but so graceful once they’re aloft. When I see a group of pelicans having fun way up high, they always make me smile. The Pelicans of Joy, I call them.

So these two soared directly over my head, spiralled above me for a while, then headed west towards the last remnants of the sun. I went after them, and all of a sudden I was sobbing out loud, the wind whipping tears off my face – a crazy middle-aged woman following two crazy pelicans along a stormy, deserted beach. I watched them glide towards a big bank of clouds and they dropped lower, and disappeared behind the dark wall of the bush.

I wiped my face with my coat sleeve and kept walking, feeling peaceful, as dusk settled in.