“I’m scared of bunyips.”
“Seriously?”
They went north, crunching gravel, and hoped they found the pale blue Nissan Skyline before dark.
They heard the ute stone-rolling from the south before they saw it.
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“A picture held us captive. And we could not get outside it, for it lay in our language and language seemed to repeat it to us inexorably.” ~Wittgenstein.
Raised on an imaginative diet of four-seasoned woods, solid-walled houses and cloaked, clear-speaking heroes, I’d managed to overlay such scenes onto our old home of Melbourne… but they made no sense here.
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