Poetic Prose: Bill Bryson

In A Sunburned Country

“Kangaroos hopped into the expansive foreground and began grazing picturesquely, and the sun plonked onto the horizon, like a stage prop lowered on a wire, and the towering western skies before us spread with color in a hundred layered shades – glowing pinks, deep purples, careless banners of pure crimson – all on a scale you cannot imagine, for there was not a scrap of intrusion in the forty miles of visible desert that lay between us and the far horizon.”


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