Much of my young life was spent in a Toyota Hilux, or a “troopy”, which may or may not be the same thing*. To my little boy mind they were towering obelisks dusted rust-red on which you could draw little pictures with your finger in clean white eraser lines. They were hugely powerful - fortresses from the crushing Kimberly heat and cyclones and great dumb Brahman bulls that bolted across the road when they saw a car coming.

Read More

I have studied the skies, flown through trains watching them pass me by, and I them.

Absorbed.

The fading splendour, the colours giving life to that which lays beneath.

Pink bails of hey picked out by nights approaching sway.

I have swayed on the train, succumbed to its soft jog, flown with it through the flow, through the rock, through the stone of love and scent and sound.

Read More