An ancient hill shaded by eucalypts, later the hunting of native animals, or worse. Then, gold for the picking. Today, dawn gilds the building that shades this place...
Twenty-four hours on Parliament Steps
Author: Pam Swanborough
writing and other occupations
Fox: hunting
Wind runs strong from the home of Morningstar, I’ll hunt at Old Farm, for Cold Farm will smell me coming tonight...
The Thief
Mather the thief pushed through the stink of people at Covent market, eyed the singer’s begging-bowl of pinchbeck, moved on
Snake
A kitten wandered away from his milky mother, and met a snake in the grass...
Psithurism
There's a great and beautiful cedar outside my door
Armistice Day 1991
You called the shots ...
Oh God Liam
JohnnyBGood says I’m always the lucky one, because my Seven Day was the day that we didn’t all die.
Petrichor
I met three people who did not cry...
Heathcote Café
Groups of families, friends, couples, talk and eat. It’s a busy weekday lunchtime and this place could only be in rural Victoria: the style is approximately hipster, the service is genial, the tables worn, the coffee excellent and the menu streamed straight from the 1970s. I’m gazing at the astonishingly good wine list, hanging… Continue reading Heathcote Café
Still
My arms ache and my heart. Still I sit and make coffee for three
P A Swanborough 
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