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The Golden Age

By Elke Anning

Gypsy. A freak of nature. Hell on Earth. The epitome of youth and freedom. My Muse.

Never have I met a girl with such fire, a striking unity of an affectionate glow and blazing beacon that I’m sure will lead the way for many of the young women of today. Days before this particular afternoon, I fell rather reminiscent of the past year-and-a-half – an era of independence, mistakes and realisation, a time of profound adolescence. Throwing ourselves and all the rolls of film we could find into the back of Nova’s lime green Kia, we drove to a field on the outskirts of Mullumbimby in attempt to capture this quality of liberty and youth – things of which Gypsy embodies so beautifully. The very essence of a Sunday afternoon, we wandered through the fields, alight with the familiar intimacy shared during ‘The Golden Hour.’ The field glowed, blanketed by golden fur as the seed heads caught the last of the fleeting light. Shadows falling, our weekend romance coming to an end, we noticed a car full of friends race past in the direction of town – the skatepark their assumed target – blasting Slipknot and thrashing around in the backseats the way one does when listening to such. Sheepish smiles spread across each of our faces, a mutual understanding of where to next. Gypsy calling shotgun, we jumped back into the car – windows down, Mum’s 80’s mixtape playing, Mt Warning in the distance dipping above and below the crest of the hills as town drew closer. Hair blowing every which way, the last of the light turning it to spun gold, Gypsy turned around, smiling back at me. Her laughter warping her recital of ‘New Order’ as she threw her head back in spirit, left hand outstretched catching the lawlessness of the wind, I’d never felt such a feeling.

A feeling of nostalgia before the moment had even passed,

 a complete and utter appreciation of the present yet the feeling of already missing it,

a wistful affection of what I have and am yet to experience.

A moment of youth to never forget. The youngest we will ever be.

The Golden Age.



Elke / 16 / Byron Bay


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