A little while back, I was out in the water, midmorning on a clear day, a few feet of clean swell. Seeming to float along down to me, from the north, came the memory of Sam Watson. Years ago, I read The Kadaitcha Sung. It was lent me by the same woman who'd put me onto Oriana Fallaci's A Man. Swiss-German, she was. I appreciated The Kadaitcha Sung for the sense of homeliness; how buy a sense of the magical was seamlessly interwoven. Prior to reading that book, I think I'd only heard of Sam through the Green Left Weekly. I admired his standing with the Socialist Alliance. Anyway, when I got back from the surf on that day, I looked Sam up online for the first time in ages and read that he had died earlier in the week. He looks good with a beard, I reckon; would've made a better Prime Minister than Scott Morrison, by a hundred million times.
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**Original drawing available
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