Larapinta

 
 

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 artefacts dropped in 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

AFTERNOON