WHEATBELT WILLY-WILLY No matter how the fingers stretch and splay, there remains a depression in the palm of the hand. Just so the sparsely-stubbled wheatbelt paddock dips indecisively beyond the far fence. And in the hollow, the wind is dancing like a gypsy, whirling in her red skirts, her auburn hair. THE GRAVITY OF THE SLIGHT Gravity can grab even a thing as slight as a dragonfly wing. Look, the end of the still blade is dipping towards the earth.   Subscribe to Quadrant magazine here…