Mullock heaps pockmark the bush and my home rests uneasily on wounded land. Land that holds memory, holds remnants: derivative of remains—all that is left, but also that which continues to exist. Djaara, the local Dja Dja Wurrung people, call it ‘Upside Down Country’, because what should have been left below, now sits on top.

The fantasy maps have poignant signs: untold leagues to the world of friends/fjords of privacy/gardens of uneasy rest/there be dragons. The map of sounds; the map of the heart; the map of pandemic animal prints. There is a sense of yearning, a gentle longing that such restrictions generate. The emoji I use most during this time is the quizzical sideways half smile of uncertainty.