THE ROAD TO RICHMOND The tobacco-roller and his son pitched their camp beneath a gum tree upon the edge of the wood.

It was October, and the gum was the colour of blood.

Behind it rolled the autumn forest; before it stretched a level of broom-sedge, bright ochre in the light of the setting sun.

The road ran across this golden plain, and disappeared in a league-deep wood of pine.

From an invisible clearing came a cawing of crows.