by Emily Bartlett
We navigate familiar rocks as if scattered by a hatted chef with careless, exquisite precision. Driftwood charred and bloated, washed up, and our silence is sliced open by the cries of seabirds. And other pieces of whole float stiff; crab shell, cicada wing, twig, cast adrift, sucked into cavernous spaces, spat into currents laced with torpid, yellowing foam. How long to roam before our final resting place? You really have to wonder. Never before has this ocean made me afraid, except on such days, when churning water blurs; seclusion hoped for but not promised beyond the waves. Emily ‘Emmy’ Bartlett (nee Walsh) is an Australian writer, artist and Pleiadian starseed living between Sydney and Coffs Harbour, NSW. She runs a creative agency and is writing her debut novel, Ozora. Emily is the assistant editor of Plumwood Mountain Journal and loves etymology, singing and the feeling of being underwater.
2 Comments
Fox
21/2/2022 12:46:02 pm
The imagery here is amazing 😍
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Krystyna
21/2/2022 03:59:45 pm
Beautiful
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