Category: Deb Lynch

…the sweetness of the creek water as it rushes downward through gullies of stone.

…as she appears at dusk to forage around the peat bog, browse over the cushion plants, nibble on wild orchids and drink from the still, dark pools.

…as she slithers through the low, whispering ferns, the wiry tussocks of native grass, the leaf litter from the glorious stands of magnificent forest giants, towards the relentless descent of the mountain creeks.

…as she soars above the towering cliffs, the seas of rocky scree, the stunted, twisted snow gums and the cool, clear mountain lakes.