"It's me, Paul."My mother looked up and replied, "Paul? Paul? Who's Paul?" After amoment, a wave of recognition passed over her face, and she said; "O...,Paul! Of course! So good to see you- please, sit down."We spent a few minutes going through the usual niceties - questionsabout her health, comments on the weather, complaints about the food.I enquired about the photos she had, and she handed them over to me tosee.The photos were all of herself, much younger, with a young girl,ranging from. Neither of us moved to dress. Dawn painted the sky with a palate of soft orange and yellow which made our skin glow. Mavis doodled patterns on her skin, using my semen. We looked at each other, sharing the surreal moment. The news came on the radio and nothing was reported. “Too early!” she said. We sat and watched the paddocks of stunted, sparse wheat pass, eerie in the morning orange hue that was suggestive of fire and reminded of drought. We looked at each other too, fascinated by the. More

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