In the middle of the city on the edge of the world, we still feel the shocks beneath roots. We tether our houses for the coming storm, and I picture our homes and lives like brightly coloured box kites, bobbing over the abyss. My sister waves from her own delicate contraption of silk and sticks, her ginger cat curled on her lap, and beyond her, my parents sail in theirs, mouthing something I can’t hear, but understand as unconditional love. They’ve been here before: in fact, it was my mum and dad who built this whole unlikely beauty, in this place that no one else had ever dared to dream. We trust to the wind and although, far below and far away, there’s something sick in the organs of the Earth, we trust to the twine that holds us firm and keeps us connected.
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
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