I’m sitting at my friend’s kitchen table. The Aga hums taking the edge off the cold that seeps in through the thin glass windows and around the gaps of the old doors. Outside the setting sun has left the western horizon glowing red.
Yesterday we’d driven north from the Riverina, though paddocks dressed in flamboyant green, past mobs of lambi…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Sit Spot to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.