Power’s out
Really? Geez… getting pretty blowy hey..
Yeah…
The wind batters our window again, making a close pass and catching the slight opening we’ve left for a breeze, rattling the old thing in its track. Consistent, the wind’s growing as the night goes on.
There’s probably a line down or something. Heaps of leaves and what not blowing around down there when I came in.
Laptop closed. The absence of foreseeable power increases the value of what’s stored on the battery exponentially. We’re back onto rations.
Who’d’ve thought, after the day we had yesterday and this morning?! Unbelievable to this in a couple of hours.
More rattling..
Might as well hit the sack hey.
Yeah I reckon. I’ll be off too soon in a minute.
Knackered conversation after a massive weekend. Sentences stripped down. Not offensive, just brief, to the point. Footsteps half sticking to the tiles in the remnant moisture left by the humidity on the large square kitchen tiles. A closing door. Closing a little louder and usual, helped on by the final push given by a still open bedroom window beyond.
It’s crazy how things can change up so quickly.
Catchya tomorrow hey.
Yeah, ‘night mate.
***
Haha! You’re kidding?!
Nah, the whole thing. It’s just a burger.
What, after we’d already had lunch!? Don’t know where it goes – look at you, skinny as a rake.
Hollow legs, hey.
There’s a crowd ‘round the corner shops, people splayed out over the concrete or perched in the minimal October shade, propped up on a single row of dark bricks typical to suburban shopfronts of the time – those shops which double as a shop at front and tight living area out back. This tiny stretch of bricks becomes the unofficial seating of the fish’n’chip shop in summer. Usually there’s a simple aquatic scene stuck to the window, like a faded beach or an underwater view of sea characters with (somewhat ironic) smiles on their faces. Just behind the window legs shoot back and forth handling the chips and loading them into the fryer – a role that almost always populates the front of the shop.
Thongs slap. Towels flap. Shoulders prepare for an onslaught of Australian sun, the first real session outside of summer.
The horizon is water – and cooling.
Blue, flattish with only a slight pulse of wave through it. Perfect for entertaining the idea of swimming off the edge of the rocky sandstone cliffs.
Banter bounces to and fro – it’s been a big week for a few of us – the final pre-chrissie rush has really kicked in, or our travels have taken us between Perth, Melbourne, and Sydney in a week. We’re stoked to be hitting the ocean to wash it all away.
Our laughter’s drenched in the need to..
***
Everything’s blurry, indecipherable shapes and a basic colour pallet shift and shimmer. Creams, greens and browns adorn what you know are rocks from experience and a lower tide. A dark forest of seaweed and kelp sways hypnotically not too far away in front of you, guarding the deeper water near the cliff edge.
You’re kicking yourself you forgot your mask and snorkel – the visibility would be amazing – with the pre-summer conditions of low off shore winds and low nutrients from the cold, post-winter, southern ocean dominated water. It’s always a winner.
Holding on to breath, you dive deep….. and sign up to my newsletter to see the second half next week (I won’t be publishing it broadly; it’ll be a treat just for you!)..
Making Tracks 