Dear Wigleaf,

You ask me about home. I say I have spent so long not answering because home is not my location—or it is, it's just that time and place can be pleated, folded, tucked into itself and packed down tighter than we had imagined. Look, here is a thread, not holding it all together but part of my pattern and orientation: saltbush and mangroves, tussock grass and coastal banksia, Coolum, Maroochy and that old man mountain they call crouching lion, his back turned against the sea, sugarcane and sleeping volcanoes, sandstone, jacaranda, honeysuckle over the back fence, coconut, mango, lychee, lemongrass, lawyer vine and flint, leeches and tree frogs and black cockatoos, black coffee in a thermos or keep cup and sticky rice wrapped in a leaf and eaten, driving from I-forget-where to sunrise, or sleeping on the side of the road, with you hours away.

   xx
       Kat