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The Harvest Time of Life

They walked out of the café hand in hand, into the heat and green of the valley. She wore a peach sarong and boots, he was in old jeans and a tattered straw hat. They began to walk down the road towards the village. She stopped, laughed and pointed in the direction of the creek. Taking a detour, they scrambled over the fence and strode over to investigate. They were 23, perhaps; young, strong, hope and delight in every movement. I could have been watching myself and my partner, nearly half a century ago. Even her sarong was the same colour I used to wear. They are just beginning the adventure. And yes, there was a moment of wistfulness for the days when I could fight a bushfire for 36 hours

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© Jackie French