It is where the river bends at its widest point that Rhoda Roberts comes to sit. The river was our lifeline, our bloodline. It gave us everything. I come here and look at the river all the time.
Above us the traffic rattles and clanks over the Ballina Street bridge, a crossing that was once made by canoe. When I meet Roberts the Wilson river is benign, brown, sluggish, innocent as it weaves through the broken town of Lismore.
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