B(u)oy's washed-up collections

My Grandmother had a portal window and frosted glass with ship scenes – in Loxton. She came from Port Adelaide and Semaphore. Down her hallway was a photograph of her younger brother who drowned in the ocean as a boy. Could she see him in the ghostly frosty scene as she looked out over the red dirt and bull ants. As Paul Kelly sang, ‘everything’s turning to white’. What is on the horizon? My boys are collectors. They collect shells, twigs, stones, things that wash up on the shore. Photograph Grant Hancock