And so it was that the Mukdah's words blew across the desert sands, drifted through a hundred years to a distant land, and came to rest in a town isolated at the foot of the snow-capped mountains.

The early morning was hot and humid. Inside Ghost-Gum the day unfolded as it did every Sunday. Into the quiet of the morning Mother called. She lead me down the hallway and out the back door, across the verandah, through the side garden into the outhouse, dark under the weight of creeping geraniums. Without turning on the light, she locked the door, began to unfold and refold the already ironed clothes. Then she knelt, her face close.

'Listen carefully,' she whispered. 'I have something important to tell you. But you must promise not to tell anyone that you know. Especially not your father. He is afraid for you. It is to be our secret.' ...read more...