A tortoiseshell twitching its ears at me from a tower window.
Germans climb over the railing to have their picture taken, backs to the void.
“You know, you really need to grow up,” says the girl taking the picture.
The movement of the cable counterweight against the trees, a shuttle through the loom of canopy.
Mud and water.
Endurance walker with a pack, arms dangling; the feeling has gone from them.
Mist swirling in the sky, the wind is fast. It brings weather like an arrow.
The currawongs, those brutes.
Strappy grass extends its fingers into the slotted mailbox.
Hidden cockatoos strip a pine of nuts, releasing oily scent; palm sunday and air-freshener.
Birds ping from the Valley, sonar through mist.
The fermata of GangGangs, impossible wings.