When the atmospheric temperature is below freezing, water vapour solidifies into ice crystals in the sky, if the clouds carry enough moisture to allow it. Transformed from their ethereal structure, the crystals succumb to gravity, falling downward through their cloud. As they take this expedition, more of the water vapour that formed them condenses on their surfaces, freezing, one layer on top of another. Once crystals, they are now snowflakes.

Originally published in Southerly 74:2 (Brandl & Schlesinger)

It took Mike five minutes to assure himself that the dog we hit on Harmond Drive was dead. The border collie had emerged from the side of the six lane highway. Mike slammed on the brakes but we hit it straight on as it cowered, bracing itself for the impact. Pasta salad flung from the bowl on the backseat, spraying the windscreen. The inertia whacked us back into our seats. We sat waiting for something – anything – to happen.

Originally published in Verge (Monash University Publishing)

It was 35 degrees the day that Charlie started playing up. John got a call about it at work. His boss, Jimmo, was an old friend and didn’t mind John ducking off from the garage when it was something about Charlie. Fixing cars can wait, he’d say. But not too long. Jimmo usually added something like that. He started doing it after John got cross with him for being too nice. You’re my boss, Jim. Not my fucken counsellor.

Originally published in Kindling II (Writer’s Edit Press)