I look out the window and watch clouds act as lens filters while everyone else attends to bigger problems. Rain-dancers have their beliefs suspended as every hill wears a different robe of brown and cumulonimbus are all talk and no action. Trees stand majestic in once-lagoon ovals, and follow the curves of glitterless water. Smoke is rising from the coast where wet can still be dry enough to burn even after a thousand years of rainforest. On the hill farthest from the front lines, generals bicker about optimal denial. The man beside me reads Tolkien. I want to tell him the good guys win in the end, but I can’t remember.
Listen to Amanda reading ‘Distance Blurs’ (1:03)
Amanda McLeod is a Canberra-based creative with fiction and poetry published in many places, both in print and online. She is the Managing Editor of Animal Heart Press, a small poetry press. A fan of quiet places, she’s often outdoors with her dog, looking for the perfect spot.
© 2020, text and audio