All that remains
The bird is tucked hard up into the corner of my house, and I know straight away it is dead, murdered by a night-wandering cat. I reach down, and gently pick it up, nestling its feather-weight in my hand, as the tears begin to fall. It is evening, and I hear tapping outside the window. I quietly open the window, as the setting sun streams into my house, dust motes floating on the cooling air. It is then I see it, camouflaged against the stones, a baby thrush searching for snails under the pittosporums. I throw a tiny piece of bread, a peace offering, my cat securely locked inside. I am re-reading What Remains , the debut novel by Aussie writer, academic and international traveller, Denise Leith. A love story interspersed with war and conflict and the unimaginable things that we humans do to each other in the name of race or creed or politics. It is strangely compelling and deeply disturbing. Last time, I read the stories with distance, my own troubles seemingly large. This time … this ...