A single cloud now climbing the hill towards me and the blue-grey shadows in it are in the shape of a fire and all about it brightness where the light pours through – Uninterrupted its shadow moves over the craving grasses – pale seedheads now shaking out light – as with a sound of wings the scrubwrens scatter out of head-high rubble overrun with weeds – tussock, milk-thistle, dry stalks o ... (read more)