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About Paul Milnes

It was 1982. A warm, clear autumn day. The echo of white galahs squawking throughout the terrain, wings flapping wildly as the sound of our dog Rusty barking had spooked the birds, flying to the nearby dry bull oak tree across our farm nestling near the border of South Australia and Victoria. The warm autumn breeze blows through Lucy’s long blonde hair, wild sundried thistle along the property singing soulfully while the windmill’s working harder than ever.