Running She is running away from them, businessmen on the Avenue queued at the traffic lights, thinking of home. Leaves underfoot, great drifts as though she were running through the soft husks of summer. In dreams it feels like this – effortless. Easy. Stride and breath flowing like sunlight through half-bare trees. At the end of …
Joanna Preston: Tasmanaut Poet
A Dark Feathered Art 