Epigraph:
Grounded.
Cross-legged, in dust.
We sit amongst murga. They fringe our camp, sheltering us from the south-easterly winds
that blow across this country during Barrgana time.
Returning to the same buru each year.
Ground re-visited, fires re-lit.
Ashes mounding up.
Remnant coals glowing once more under fires that dot the dry, sandy creek bed.