Near my home in Humpty Doo there’s a marsh where locals dump animal carcasses. One time I found some new bones to photograph and stood on my car to get a higher perspective. Immersed in picture making, it was nearly dark when a battered ute drove through the bush. The window wound down and the driver stared silently, cigarette in mouth.

 “You must really like bones” he drawled quietly, eyeballing my large tripod.

His face was dark but I recognised him as a friend's dad from high school. He drove away. Soon after I heard the crackle of burning spear grass, which in the dry season grows tall and flammable. A fire was spreading down the marsh track, and I wondered whether he set the grass alight on purpose or by mistake. 

 Humpty Doo makes me paranoid like that.