Poetry

Tully Under Cyclone

I remember Tully. I was sixteen. I was crossing the road and looked right. There was dark cloud hanging at the end of main street where the mountain came right down to the tarmac. The cloud left only the narrowest belt of green Beneath it, one sliver to be seen below that dark and total curtain. The road-sign said mysterium tremendum et fascinosum   Subscribe to Quadrant magazine here…

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