Cent et Un Mots par Jour

The Australian bush was still and quiet. It lay under the blazing sun, dead. Even the bugs hid from the heat, either in the shadow of rare trees or in the dry soil. Like a scar in the plain's dusty flesh, a long road with glimmering tar wound lazily. On the sideroad, a peaceful animal sat, munching yellow grass. The kangaroo scratched its belly with its short front leg and stared at the horizon, waiting for its rumbling death. A large truck was driving fast in its direction.

Claire Annovazzi