Michelle Kopi


The shrill cry of a baby pierces the still silent night. It is only a few minutes before the strike of midnight. All is still accept for the endless croak of river frogs erupting after regular intervals from the water’s edge. The rush of the fastflowing river bounces over the rocks in a frenzy. The ripples crush in an echoing rhythm before dispersing into a smooth turquoise towards the deeper parts of the Wahgi. A blanket of thick fog hangs low over the water. From one side of the river it is difficult to see very far.



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