Poetic vignettes of wildlife in the bush have welcomed stories I could never imagine, like the time my grandma quite literally killed and chopped up a snake with a shovel to protect my aunt who was sleeping in a bassinet nearby. 

What do you get when you mix septuagenarians, an RSL, a dead friend’s house and dog?

Your hair’s longer now, you’ve stopped calling yourself ‘he’. You're not sure why you still call fifteen-year old you ‘he’. Probably just a habit. You are your mother’s child, after all.

The iconic American writer still has much to teach us about memory, grief, and the disorder of human experience.

The dead have a presence, however paradoxical that sounds.

In many ways being a migrant is characterised by loss; it waxes and wanes.

Justine Landis-Hanley writes about losing her mother.