New Zealand shapes some rare creatures. Its isolation even between towns nurtures the individual. Jeanne Bernhardt's writing builds depth via an unknowing muse, herself. Often life on the streets, of the loner is more often than not told with a male perspective. Here, we witness an unquenchable path, experiencing all the odd and less comforting realms of life that have powdered her thoughts. Nothing this writer experiences phases. Work, life and love is documented with a poetic detachment, a tender and beautiful loneliness that some could find too dark.