I remember: The sharp stink of campfires and the tang of eucalyptus and pine. The crunch of shoes on gravel in the dark. Rain on a canvas roof. The sound of nearby water, and the way it changed the feel of the air. I was taller than the boys, mostly. Taller, heavier, thighs and hips… Continue reading Late night
I spent the last nine days in the bush with a collection of family and friends. A party of twelve. I wrote in notebooks with bugs squashed between the pages. My feet are still black from dirt and burnt spinifex, a stubbed toe, a banged-up chin, mosquito bites itched open and bleeding?hundreds of pinpricks that… Continue reading Swamp country
I spent the majority of my childhood with the sound of traffic in the background, in places where you can?t see the stars for the streetlights. The bush was a place to go temporarily, because we?d always come back over that hill on the Hume eventually, and I?d strain to see the glitter of the… Continue reading Light pollution
It?s May 14. Our lantern has run out of batteries, so I?m writing this in the amenities shelter in the campground at Boodjamulla (Lawn Hill) National Park. I?m writing on lined paper in a fine blue pen and I have to stop every couple of words to brush the moths off the page and pick… Continue reading Gulf country
What about the roar and thunder of the falls? How, from above, the splashes up over the lip of the rock look like icicles? What about those grey-green gums, motionless against the iron sky, or the lichen-dappled boulders, black with slime at the river?s edge? What about the roots of that fig tree, hooked into… Continue reading Waterweight
Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here.
It was late afternoon. The houses, so sprawling and airy they could hardly be considered ?indoors?, spread in a lazy curve around the oval. Football posts peeling scabbed white paint stood in the bleached grass at either end. As I walked across the oval to the schoolhouse, the sun stretched long fingers across the floodplains… Continue reading Strange birds
It?s easy to get lost on country roads at night. After awhile, the red dots and white lines blur together. You talk to yourself, you drive too fast. The only thing between 100km/h and 130km/h is a hair in your mouth. The last time I drove these roads was a month ago, on a warm… Continue reading A storm to blow it out