Arms, Shoulders, Feet
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“We’re med students, Matty. We get every disease we study. I thought I had porphyria last week, only because I’d eaten beetroot.”
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Force, mass, acceleration.
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“I got 11. What’s it out of?” asked Yvonne. “Twenty?”
“Naah, it’s a percent, I think,” said Mandy sadly.
“Percent? You’re kidding! Jeez, that’s what you get for writing your name on the paper!” said Yvonne, disgusted.
Why don't you be a nurse?
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Her Aboriginal face wore an intelligent expression. Another young Aboriginal woman looked at me over the shoulder of the first. My mouth was open.
“What are you two doing here?” I asked.
“We live here. We’re studying medicine.”
“What? You can do that?”
The women smiled.
Needles and Stones
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So, without Thunghutti, I made up my own language to sing to the land. At my feet was a piece of milky quartz. I could make out the shape of a head and some kind of body — a fierce bird. Asking permission, I dug the stone out.
Read MoreNo Such Thing as a Stranger
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My work was at the healing tent. “Your irises are like silk,” an iridologist cooed to an aged woman. “I know how much work it took to do all that healing”. The older woman glowed. I had no idea what they were talking about.
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Lake Ballard Immense
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The figures are distant and, at our first scorching visit, distorted by mirage. Hobbit-sized, but wiry with narrow heads, as if carved into arrow shapes by the wind and salt.
Read MoreA glamorous morning
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A package arrived from India. "I love parcels like this," the postmistress said. Wrapped in cotton, soft as a teddy bear, it had been stitched up, with a dribble of brown wax sealing each end. I could smell textile dressing and dust. The package had travelled from desert to desert — from Rajastan’s yellow sands in India to the deep red earth of Central Australia.
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