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Deep in the bush where there were no cicadas singing, the moist smell of soil, a small stream, dark ferns. The middle of the ponga fern looked as if it would be a perfect bed to curl up in. I half believed there were bush dwelling creatures that did live and sleep there, watching me from the shadows.
Written for Karen Grylls and the University of Auckland Chamber Choir
Dedicated to Karen Grylls and the University of Auckland Chamber Choir
Text by Leonie Holmes, Robert Wiremu