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Outside the sun is shining, the leaves on the tall trees are lush and glistening, the grass is soft as mohair, there are daisies and butterflies and the sky is blue, yet inside you all this beauty has separated into fractals, fallen through space and collected in your core, fast and sudden, like an arrow driven right through your flesh and riveting you to the centre of everything.

(Donna Ward, ‘Orphan of our nation’s history’, Southerly 74.2)