by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
A drifting of red covers the horizon and slowly blankets the scene into muted tones. It could be a Eugene von Guerard painting from colonial times, the rust sprinkling across a greyish blue sky, then forming a more solid brushstroke to the ground blending the red with ochre and tan with patches of silvering green and white. In the distance a ribbon of brown cuts into the landscape and trails towards large oxidised bulks. For as far as we can see it’s flat, stretching endlessly, stunning yet harsh, a place where the dreaming is of red dirt dollars.
Hello! I'm Kerry
. . . a plan-nothing, have no idea where I'm going travelholic.
A daughter of the gypsies and the wife of a workaholic, I'm forever wondering 'What's over there?' and devising ways to squeeze through the barbed-wire fence of small-business ownership responsibilities and every-day life tangles to discover it.
and this is my book