Well here we are, the end of another year gradually tattered and worn away to the frayed ends of its tapestry (and the usually-invisible-but-probably-essential polyesterish filaments that give the whole thing some chance of making it through a whole twelve months). (Probably not my best analogy, but then I’m married to a textile technologist.) It’s been …
Joanna Preston: Tasmanaut Poet
A Dark Feathered Art 