Published in Latitudes & Attitudes, Winter Issue, 2021, pp. 107 The first puff of a southerly hits my face like a promise. I squint into the darkness, spy a wind-line on the water. The termination of the mirrored sea, as abrupt as if it had never existed. The headsail shivers, curls inward and snaps backContinue reading “Storms, Straits and Sulphides: A Yacht Delivery on the Australian East Coast”
Author Archives: mathewchanner
Editor, journalist, creative writer. Unable to sit still.
Better the Bear You Can See
I see the grizzly before it sees me; an immense, oblong shape, joints sliding beneath fur at the four corners of its back as it advances down the hill. It glides over uneven ground…
A Death in the Rain
When I die, let it rain. I have always wanted to die when rain is all can be heard. When water pours like glass beads from heavenly hands, and stands among terraced trees, and spills down grassy lanes, and gathers like birds on a windowsill, tap-tapping the panes. When I die, let it rain. SometimesContinue reading “A Death in the Rain”
Run On
Bells are ringing if only in my mind, Eyes closed, are you sleeping? Designed and refined, now all left behind, Life defined by leaving. Wind is blowing along the hollow lane, No more happy panting. A gentle touch beneath the fur; no pain To quiet your prancing. Water is filling the holes in the lawn,Continue reading “Run On”
Grandfather
He does not sit. He lies; drifting, sometimes, into the room as if coming through the window, eyes wandering like young men wander the bodies of lovers. I do not know if he knows what he sees. I do not know if he knows I am here. I do not know if he mourns. HeContinue reading “Grandfather”
Small Town
You live in a city but spend your life telling people you come from a small town by the sea. The church there had no steeple; no iron cross rusting in the salty air. You were happy there. You live in a city; you flew there in chains. You grew too much. We all grewContinue reading “Small Town”
The Sky Burial
Human bones litter the ground; knuckles, teeth, one side of a jaw, rusted knives and axes scattered among them, the first evidence we’ve found that we’ve come to the right place. Behind us, from Lithang, a procession marches along the winding dirt road, a team of young men carrying something on their shoulders.
Once We Were Outcasts
It should have taken months to find the right vehicle. Instead, it took days. Less than two weeks after my partner Hayley and I decided to buy and convert a van, Ursula was sitting in our front yard. A green, empty shell. Three cubic meters of limitless potential. This would not have been so unlikelyContinue reading “Once We Were Outcasts”
Lessons on Community – The Larapinta Trail
Day One on the trail finds the eight of us in good spirits until somewhere near the 22 kilometer mark. The terrain is mostly flat, the red earth masked by spinifex and scraggly trees that offer only minimal shade, the path meandering between rolling hills, climbing only occasionally over rocky outcrops. It’s an easy trailContinue reading “Lessons on Community – The Larapinta Trail”
A Language of Smiles
The young Tibetan speaks no English. My Mandarin is limited. In a language of smiles and gestures, he tells me to remove my boots. I peer dubiously along the steep, rocky path, running above a blue, alpine lake. More Tibetans, the man’s family, hobble over the stones, faces taught in pained concentration. Prayer flags flutterContinue reading “A Language of Smiles”
Mathew Channer 