Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
A leg of lamb in the oven. A thump on our front door, a frenetic rap of urgency. A man in a wetsuit, his mien grim, unnaturally calm, heaped netting at his feet, stands there. "A lad is missing. Could we set up in your garden?" he asks.
Across the road a quarry lies dormant, flooded from the recent rains. The clay-slicked quarry walls are steep, slippery. No handholds, nothing to clutch but hostile air. No hope for the kid who liked to skip stones. I squint my assent through spot-lit tears.
the moon reflected
in the child’s eyes