We’re holding off getting a couch till the wet season passes – I’ve lost far too much velvet to the Wilson River. Living in a flood plain means not ever fully resting

For me the sound of rain has changed, as it has for many people in the northern rivers from a peaceful backdrop for slumber and a giving life force to a warning sign to not get complacent.

The sound now carries with it a weight, and a knowing, of the power that can hide behind it. I have seen water in places the mind can’t fathom in its absence, yet the evidence remains as a daily reminder. A tricycle high in the tree out the front on the verge, windows and doors to house after house, sky-high on stilts, silent, open and gaping, revealing the holes that have been left in so many lives.

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