It is the end of summer here. The sun has lost her ferocity and the morning wind that blows is serious. No more balmy caresses, we're heading for beanie weather. Or are we?

It is midday, high noon and bright as breath. Under the canopy, a lacklustre wind flutters crackling leaves as sweat trickles down the back of my knee.

Yet in the photographs it is even hotter.

The women's faces are slightly more defined than the men's, where all you can see is the stern line of the moustache and the beard. On the women it's as if someone had blown ash across the surface, but the features can still be seen. And they sit, men and women in formal rows, with nothing but sky behind them. The ground is so flat it disappears and bodies hover, held aloft by the relentless heat.

Small, ramshackle buildings stand behind them in some places, in some places they stand in front of mine entrances. Faded now, that life looks fresh and brand new then...it was the frontier, speckled with hardship and lived under a blazing sun. All black and white photos evoke this longing in me. This feeling that things were so unique then. Less cliche and bullshit. Of course this may not be the case, but at the very least we were all more beautiful when we were young...

This red dust wouldn't be visible in black and white. Or the contrast with the aching colour of the sky. Life lived in technicolour.

The brisk morning wind has blown sunrise into today