A river of pink, yellow and white spilled over the red dry earth of the embankment. It ebbed and flowed through the scrubby trees and into the bush as far as I could see. Orchids peeped out from their hiding places by the trunks of the overhanging trees, and everlastings turned their yellow faces towards the last golden tendrils of the sun’s orb.

It is September, and I have come to Camel Soak on the Rabbit Proof Fence, thirty kilometres east of ... (more)