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South Hellsgate

by AMANDA ALLAN Climbing: Hooves thump for purchase. Nostrils flare, snorting steam. Snow covered bracken. Tree ferns droop, drip. Summit: Granite boulders capped, fluffy white. Scattered tall gums. Thick chilled cloud, Engulfing view. Stop: Slowing rhythm flanks against legs. Shiver.…

Sisters of the South

by FRED DUNCAN Tierra del Fuego and the island of Tasmania, Beautiful sisters of the southern seas, Separated forever by the infinite ocean, But joined by the currents of the sea and the sky, And in the icy nights –…

Short, unmade film

by STEPHANIE POWELL Prologue: The seconds don’t collapse, they linger – like this: she remains one foot on the pavement, one foot on the road taking the morning… With a photo? Or eating hues? The south-easterly entering her open mouth…

sense of arc

by KEVIN GILLAM there’s a wide silence here, bar lines through hours unplayed, pines and, of course, that pylon, island smeared, wind shushing at waves. one gull, high up, comma cut loose, cirrus, summer, shimmer heat with eyes running the…

Sea Eagles

by ANDREW HEDE She sits alone on a cliff-top staring at the ships and the surfers, meandering in her inner world. An eagle rises slowly on an updraft, scans her with expressionless eyes and slips into her consciousness. Initially, she…

Saudade

by LYNDAL TURNER There is a place that exists only in darkness, where the streetlights’ shallow pools don’t touch, and the cars we’ve made crouch in the space we’ve made for them. The arc of their backs glitter with tears.…

Quiet Sunset

by AGI DOBSON The hills quiver in golden light a slight breeze brushes yellow leaves roosting calls of birds gradually cease. With the fading of gold to yellow, pink, then indigo the hills dissolve. The first stars glimmer in a…

Picnic at the You Yangs

by KIM WATERS As the children space-time frisbees on the oval and he stands, a bare-legged blacksmith in a devil’s apron, brandishing tongs, she flails a tartan-tasselled travelling rug, stained with BBQ sauce and bindi eyes, over the bumpy ground.…

Northern Border

by ROHAN BUETTEL In heavy fog we ride the northern border. Man-sized shapes loom in the mist, silent, still, until we close and they turn and bound away. The fence on our left marks the territory boundary, each barb of…