Miners Shack
Miners Shack
This morning the light came with the odour of woodsmoke
and falling leaves.
A hare ran like a small antelope
across the cut grass.
Summer extinguished down a hole.
The rats somersaulted with the poison.
Winter waits like a secret lover
behind a veil
made from the memory of ice.
The stars click into high beam
across infinity.
Patrick McCauley
Madam: Archbishop Fisher (July-August 2024) does not resist the attacks on his church by the political, social or scientific atheists and those who insist on not being told what to do.
Aug 29 2024
6 mins
To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case
Aug 20 2024
23 mins
A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten
Aug 16 2024
2 mins