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James Aitchison: ‘Ingrid in the bush’

James Aitchison

Dec 30 2020

0 mins

Ingrid in the bush

When light of sun fades
The bush softens,
Becomes softer, the translucence
That lit Bergman,
The soft deflected haze of
Eucalypt scented air in lazy
Twilight, the dewy composition of
Her face in wan tones devoid of colour.
The day is closing,
Ingrid is fading now,
Into the eternal evening.

James Aitchison

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