“If you were a superhero your power would be 20/10 hindsight” she said.





They stood apart at the edge of the landing, her eyes on the early evening sky, his struggling to focus on the criss-cross pattern of his shoe laces.





She cloaked his faded red sweatshirt over her and turned to trace her way back up the mud and gravel track he had eased them down an hour earlier.





Old growth stood in silent judgment.





He remained still, watching the taillights of the old Ford recede into the brush below the landing, leaving a faint wake as the dense undergrowth swallowed the faded-blue hulk whole. Willie Nelson was playing through the open windows of the cab, his nasal twang piercing through the snap of branches and screech of wood on rusty metal.



