Wind runs strong from the home of Morningstar, I’ll hunt at Old Farm, for Cold Farm will smell me coming tonight...
Fox: hunting
Author: Pam Swanborough
writing and other occupations
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
At Ballarat Station
We are waiting for the 11:15, I am travelling alone. Asian tourists, serene girls, with somnolent boyfriends like wisps of rice straw in their wake, drift through the concourse - pale leaves on dark water, catching against benches and pillars, throwing up beachheads of bags and flowers. Whispering deros, winos and assorted night people hug… Continue reading At Ballarat Station
P A Swanborough 
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