Gavin Austin

Scars

The connecting shuttle bus is on time. Stowing my bag, I take a seat behind the driver and wonder if I may have gone to school with him. I sit, staring through glass.

Pale fingers of dusk rake the bushland. Beyond a waning sunset, the sky is washed-out blue. Hills rise and fall, furrowed with channels of darkness. Displayed like a trophy, the highest peak glows in slanted sunlight; a paradox of splendour and desolation. Until the aubergine outline swallows the last of the light. Breathing deeply, I inhale the fragrance of gum, fern and moss. I feel immediately at home.

carousel
I choose the pony
with the damaged ear

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About the Author

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. Gavin writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.

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