The Cliff House.

I've been visiting a friend of mine down the south coast of NSW. Lou is a writer of non-fiction and poetry. She manages to earn a living from it. When times get tough she supplements her income teaching creative writing evening classes. I met her at one of her classes about ten years ago and... Continue Reading →

The Painter In The Street.

"I remember when you lived in that house," he said. "The one on the hill. It looked like it was leaning over the street. The wind used to whip through the maple trees and sing in the eaves. I saw you once, dancing in the leaves. You had on a white dress and you kicked... Continue Reading →

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