A twisty spirit surrounds the Larapinta. It rises at dawn and crawls across the pinking spinifex. Spotty over shear and rounded faces. Stones underfoot look like ancient artifacts dropped at a whim and stepped on a thousand years later.
Flies in the eyes.
Grave of an artist who is looking directly at Sonda.
Rain in the gorge,
too many rainbows... Paul du Moulin