Saturday, 11 January 2014

Between Kaleen and Giralang

The heavy humid air offers promises of lightning 
and the roar of thunder.

 I am led through pale straw grassland, blue bells and the bleached white husks of wild oats in windrows.

I am transported High on this ridge.

So long as I look forward. One sideways glance is all it takes,

And the spell is broken.

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