Cold hands

We’d not long been on our walk to Lobster Falls in Central Northern Tasmania when I was drawn to a network of fallen trees on the track. The searching way their great limbs reached sideways into the undergrowth momentarily disrupted my sense of space and depth. I was struck by the elegance and sorrow of their demise.

The figure is perched awkwardly in the foreground, cold hands tightly clasped, disconnected from the landscape.