Cirrus@Austlit

'In the time before the bay, before the ice began to slip away, the men and women and the children mapped the land with the soles of their feet, drawing and tracing tracks from the edge of the sea in the south to the mountains behind them in the north, marking Country as they hunted emu and kangaroo, and as they dug for crops. With the melting of the ice the sea came forward, creeping across the land, swallowing many of the tracks, the fresh-water holes, the yam digs and ceremonial sites. The sea was hungry and refused to stop and soon enough the mouth of the river, the 'Birrung', was swallowed and its veins were pushed back toward the mountains. The men and women, witness to their loss, sat and spoke and agreed to call upon Bunjil to act for them. And he did. He came to them with three boulders. One he placed at the edge of the encroaching sea. The other two he placed side-by-side at the submerged mouth of the river that lay now beneath the salted water. Bunjil moved forward and spoke to the sea. He demanded it come no further, that it might lap at the boulder he had placed at its edge, but never swallow it. He then pierced the ground with a line of sticks, separating land from sea and told the sea to come no closer to the land. He also demanded of the sea that as it had taken the heart of the 'Birrung' it would now protect it. He asked that the river bed that lay beneath the salted water remain untouched, and that when the time came, in the 'future', the sea would allow the river to rise again. The sea agreed, but explained to Bunjil that in the 'future' the 'ghosts' would come and they would disturb both the river and the sea. The sea explained that it had moved forward to protect the river, to blanket it before the 'ghosts' arrived. Bunjil himself had been unable to witness this future and thought it may be a trick. But the sea assured him that it was so, and that it would be ready to fight for both itself and the river. Bunjil spoke to the men and women of the 'future' that only the sea knew and assured them that it would act with them...' (Abstract)

'Mr F was short and squat, well dressed, with the sort of small, dry hands you might expect of a bureaucrat. I was horrified to observe a tiny spot of tomato sauce on his striped tie. At least I hoped it was tomato sauce. He entered the hotel room quickly, before the door was even fully open, slipping inside with more agility than I'd expect of someone of his age and build. What we were doing was highly illegal; the appointment had been complicated to organise, and arranged through an intermediary. I'd never met anyone like him before - anyone who did what he did, I mean - and I was anxious. Besides that, I didn't even know his real name, so, without thinking, I stuck out my hand and said, 'You must be the abortionist.'...' (Abstract)

'Last December, I was planning to write an essay on the politics of the imagination for this magazine. But then I felt so worn out by worrying about how to urgently cut a lot of money from next year's budget in my corner of the university, as happens every year at this time, while at the same time worrying about how to urgently spend a lot of money from last year's budget, as happens every year at this time, and then too, worrying about whether our fabulous research group (being only a capital-G Group and not a capital-C Centre) might be left out when the new capital-P Platforms come on line, not to mention worrying about whether my staff had exceeded or only met expectations against their objectives, both cascaded and individual, and how I would handle any difficult conversations with them without having been to any of the four free management coaching sessions I was entitled to - in sum, worrying about a myriad such things, big and small - that I gave up. However, refreshed after the Christmas break, I reconsidered. For one reason, such an essay, in such a distinguished outlet, would be good for my KPIs...' (Abstract)

'Ironbarks, as their name suggests, are tough trees. Their outer covering is thick, rough and deeply furrowed. Dead bark is not shed but accumulates. As it dies, it is infused with kino, a dark red sap or gum. The kino ensures that the bark is impervious to fire and heat, protecting the living tissue within - one of the many adaptations of eucalypts.' (Abstract)

'It was evening when Mia and her mother reached their building. Overhead, the perpetual pale overcast of the sulphur-seeded sky had flared through the terrible red of sunset and was now starting to dim. Annifrid flicked the car's headlights onto a higher beam as she guided it down, down, down to find their bay in the cavernous underground bunker of their building...' (Abstract)