I always somehow associate Chatterton with autumn.

After the scrumptious dinner, which I had never before eaten so much, came to an end, it was customary for the parents to hand out red packages or ang pow to the children and unmarried adults.

When we left camp before sunrise, heading on a beeline for the most northerly gully, I drove eagerly, with the kind of shining hope that early morning starts can generate. But eight hours later, when we struck back toward camp across the open plain, I found myself sagging in the driver’s seat.

the dye worked its way through