three days of the final moments of our lives
the first morning we touched down, mark stood next to a tree with no leaves and calmly exclaimed that these would be our "last few days on the earth."
all that was left to taste was the burnt charred smell of cooking flesh. sandwiching them with whatever meager resources we could scavange, we had a feast made for kings amongst peasants.
sweet honey swirled together in a swirl, to show us with wide open eyes the extent of our misery
i looked up for some sort of response, and some sort of hope, cursing and pleading all at once, without anything left in me, all i could find was the shelter for the night
but amazingly enough, down poured the heavens with nectar from the gods, which parted the sea of our senses and we escaped to a higher freedom.
and this is my short picture story of our lives in sunny yet wintery 'ol perth.
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