North of the Line

Strewn across a wide plain, sheep bones dazzle in the bright sun. On the horizon, phantoms coalesce then melt away into watery lies. The only sound is the dry, papery whispers of saltbush rasped by a hot wind. The stone walls of a derelict farmhouse make a last stand against the encroaching desert. A big sky has claimed its roof. Out of the shadows of a paralysed windmill, a shiny black beetle leaves little footprints as it wanders across the face of this abandoned world.