by Guy Hull

I was 13 years old and had been confined to my grandparent’s homestead for some time.  A stubborn low pressure system had pulled the handbrake on over the upper Darling and emptied itself onto the plains for weeks on end.  I had spent the time with my Pop, who was enduring declining health.  But when the sun reappeared, the earth dried and the paddocks revived after an extended dry spell, so did my Pop’s health and with it his humour.

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