Read my short piece, 'Flight Path', over at The Wheeler Centre's website, now:

'Those morning horses, they’re floating: aluminium shoes glinting in Ron’s makeshift track light. Small Ruthy Reece, she’s leaning against the humming Ford Falcon – training float looming behind her, paint cracked like her mum’s hard-boiled eggshells, always lacing the bench, the bluestone kitchen tiles, the sink. The girl’s fingers are pink from Yarra Glen fog. Trainer Ron’s nose, it’s always that way, from months, now, of whisky-warmed evenings – spent alongside 774, turned down low, for company.'