Lost children in the bush

A cry from the mill, a footstep— Nothing happens.

. Sometimes a woman, sweeping her front step, or a plain young wife at a tankstand fetching water in a metal bucket will turn round and gaze at the mountains in wonderment, looking for a city.

. As night comes down, the houses watch each other; A light going out in a window has a meaning. . Men sit after tea by the stove while their wives talk, rolling a dead match between their fingers, thinking of the future.

Murray shows us lives stalled at the point of hunger for story. Nothing happens, yet the lack of story is overpowering—in the people, in the minimal instances of their lives: 'calendared kitchens.metal bucket.rolling a dead match.' Nothing distracts them from the passage of time. Nothing either shapes it or reshapes it. The women 'gaze at the mountains in wonderment/ looking for a city'. For the word 'city' here we might read 'story'.

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