Just a single beggardly figure straggling over a landscape nearly Irish in its greenery.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
30 Wed Dec 2015
Posted green
inJust a single beggardly figure straggling over a landscape nearly Irish in its greenery.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
30 Wed Dec 2015
Posted white
inAll knew a wretched night awaited when the dew stiffened I to frost and the grassland began to white over.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
30 Wed Dec 2015
Posted black
inBatman lifted off his hat, smoothed back the black hair beneath and replaced it.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
29 Tue Dec 2015
Posted red
inHe stepped with care through the little ferns where the ted mottling glistened and he followed it to the base of a dead swamp gum, its trunk split apart.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
29 Tue Dec 2015
Posted yellow
inTags
And, of course, as anyone who has spread proper, yellow crusted clotted cream on their scone, there’s actually no chance that this unctuous delight is sliding anywhere, clinging as it does, cool and rich as one of the rock stars whose yachts are moored off the Cornish coast.
(Xanthe Clay, ‘What’s the right way to eat a cream tea?’, The Telegraph, 10 Apr. 2015)
28 Mon Dec 2015
Posted ham
inTags
They hauled the carcasses two at a time to the bonfires; their internals stringing out and steaming in the cold, gathering the leaf litter. Their hamcoloured tongues lolling from their mouths.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
28 Mon Dec 2015
Posted earth
inThen he raised the fowling piece to his hip and fired into the head of an earthcoloured bitch.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
28 Mon Dec 2015
Posted blue
inTags
Instead, the sky held firmly blue and the sun beamed warm on them as they slurped their tea.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
28 Mon Dec 2015
Posted brown
inIn the night Bill’s unborn son found him and ran a hand across his stubbled brown cheek.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)
24 Thu Dec 2015
A hand mirror, half a broken teacup patterned with prancing horses, an empty jam tin, a broad red book. Nothing of any value or use to a mob of wandering clansfolk. He reached down for the book where it lay.
A Bible. As sturdy as firewood in his hand. He turned the damp pages one by one and every page, every column of text, every inch of every surface was inked with arcane circles, spirals, in bloodred ochre. The broken halves of the words hanging between those scrawls were rendered useless.
(Rohan Wilson, The Roving Party)