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“In the stillness of the bushland wattle blossoms float on branches filled with dark, stolen stories, broad and brave above the ground. The land on which I grow and grow my children. An earth with burnt intentions. A history full of loss.” — April S. Rolfe
In the stillness of the bushland wattle blossoms float on branches filled with dark, stolen stories, broad and brave above the ground.
The land on which I grow and grow my children. An earth with burnt intentions. A history full of loss.