We haven't cleaned the gutters yet. There’s dry scrub sticking out like mossy pubes from a nanna's cossie.
Dry scrub wishing for embers. This valley is a firebowl and we know it but we cook our pork chops and we steam our rice and we watch A Current Affair.
Rob says he would stay and fight. He reckons he could hide under the rock ledge in the basement and the fire would pass him by. I say he's a fool. Anyone knows this house is a matchbox.a movement in a moment
When I first started visiting my mother from Sydney it felt like the ends of the earth, but that impression passed. In Bundaberg no one is a stranger for long. At the IGA checkout where I used to shop for Mum’s habitual bits and pieces - a box of tissues to add to the stockpile, sweet biscuits that would remain in her bedside tin until my next visit - I never left without a piece of wisdom or a kind enquiry. It came standard with the receipt. Once it was the secret to the best chocolate cake going. It’s instant coffee, by the way, a teaspoon, not too much.like a motherless child
It’s been heavier,' she said.
'In winter. Once.'
'Not this heavy,' I said. Out in the street the drains had filled and were vomiting filthy water up and over the gutters. The front yard was nothing but mud and leaves.
'Last time it was this bad it flooded the river,' she said. 'I saw a tram floating in the street.'
'I wasn’t there,' I said.
Rain ran down the glass, leaving dirty black trails. It was growing heavier. It was one forty-three, and there was no sign of the sun.black rain