It’s not really nowhere of course. Someone here grows our daily bread.
But they are nowhere to be seen. Just an endless gently curving field and the burning late-afternoon sun being sucked at hungrily by the million-fold ears of wheat. The tumbledown barn built by a grandfather long gone stands sentinel over a family’s industry, and when you face south the endless bitumin ribbon snarls by unseen and ignored.
Between somewhere and somewhere, in South Australia.