A post-apocalyptic tale of kin, connection and environmental loss.
‘The crisis is upon us, but abstraction is a bulwark. Deafness, everywhere. We have come to an edge. I want to find a way of taking the truth into my body, and then putting it down into the ground. From somewhere offstage, a misery of voices begins to murmur in the scrounge. What starts up is a grief work.' — Joan Fleming
'In a shadeless season, on a blistered earth, a small band of humans are singing. They are trying to remember; they have tried to forget. They are making up something from the things that are left. They are salvaging. Song of less: this song we are singing in the wreckage.' — Anwen Crawford
