Towering high above the Australian Outback landscape the trusted silver windmill toils enduringly year after relentless year. Pointing his face into the fickle wind he spins his shinny blades faithfully driving the water from deep within the sun parched ground. A silent workman, patiently waiting to do his duty whenever the wind does call.
A welcome sight for thirsty cattle, he fills their vital trough with squeaks and groans, his rusty parts complaining like an old stock man with rheumatism in his knobbly joints. Still he toils under his wide blue sky oblivious to rain or shine.