Breaking Day

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The breaking dawn brought a misty sun over low scrub and red ochre sandhills, that rich red-orange, almost terracotta on steroids, with small trees scattered across them. 

There wasn't much that was too high. 

With sunrise shots taken and no one nearby to chat with, a move back to the cabin and a visit to the Rain Room seemed like a good idea. 

There wasn't much to see, those things would have to be done eventually, and the future was an unknown quantity.

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I'd emerged and dressed for breakfast. I was in catch up mode on the field notes while Madam showered when my HBSP pen decided to give up the ghost. 

Fortunately, I had a spare, but a brief grapple with the alternative wasn't entirely satisfactory. 

So I headed off in search of a substitute, investing $2 on an Indian Pacific el cheapo that wasn't much chop. 

Any subsequent decline in reportage can be attributed to the change. Poor workmen, their tools and all that…

© Ian L Hughes 2021