Across Continents

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Sapping headwind, steady drizzle

South of Proserpine thirty miles of sporadic sugar cane. The odd homestead. But otherwise nothing save frequent uphill drags. Sapping headwind. Steady drizzle. And roadworks.

Waiting at a stop sign for my turn to pass, I chatted for a while with the traffic controller. Noticed she was wearing a fleece. Still warm. T-shirt and shorts ample. But it was beginning to cool a little as I’d continued south. Heavy rains felt sharper. Icier touch.

Bloomsbury. Few houses. Rusting truck. And a small servo. Coffee and a crumbed snag. Watching two young women spend almost an hour sweep and mop a floor barely twice the size of my lounge. Smiled as I left. Returning into the gloom outside.



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