Creative

In the Tarkine, Tasmania’s sweet, mild summer only lasts for six to eight weeks, and during that time, beekeepers come to our house and stay for the annual blooming of the leatherwood trees. You can find them scattered throughout the wilderness, the light sprinkles of white and pink blossoms framed by the taller, darker Eucalypts. A subtle fragrance follows the blooming of the flowers, and drifts through the forest, turning the damp air sweet, and attracting the honey bees. My mum and I live by the Pieman River, in a small cottage built by fishermen many years ago. We only

Now, if you don’t mind, let me set the scene. It was a Sunday night. We were enjoying a walk in the park in the brisk moonlight. I gave thanks to the autumn winds for pushing me in your direction. That’s when you told me – flipped my whole world topsy turvy. I didn’t anticipate the news you were spouting, how painful it must have been. I did appreciate your honesty. The truth hurts sometimes, so just roll with the punches and stay on your toes. Be impatient for the next jab because it hurts more to know you’ve been

1. On Depression Street, there is a house painted pink. The house: old, renovated, Colonial. Crown-moulding on the ceiling. Pink: the colour of a hopeless-hopeful people, who won’t budge no matter how many times you tell them to. Pink people, you see, are dreamers. They live and suffer for their dream. Do their dreams ever come true? Does someone who’s asleep know that they are dead? This is the Twilight Zone. 2. Still reeling, like every particle and cell of my body turned into liquid love (Dove Cameron, 2018). 3. The first time you see her, it’s not love or