May 11 – Thoughts on a traveller

I am that traveller.

The one who is late for trains. The one who gets hopelessly lost. The one who gazes endlessly, open mouthed, into the historic wonders of Europe. Cathedral ceilings; check. Famous works of art; check. Pubs, bars, food – check check check.

The one who wears a dress over her jeans to save space in her carry on.

The one who comes home full of stories about the time I got drunk and tried to kiss that guy in France through his open car window…

The one that will always wander the earth, and will find home everywhere.

May 4 – On Sunsets

The day dawned grey, another sombre morning – the latest in a long line. A fortnight of rain had left little expectation for sunshine, blue skies a distant memory. What disappointed most this morning was that a clear day had been forecast.

It was not to be.

Leaden clouds hung low all day, until, late in the afternoon, as the sun was slipping on the horizon, it slung low enough to shine bright beneath the clouds.

Golden it blazed, bathing all it touched in radiant light. Purple were the clouds above, defeated at last.

It was nice to see the sun.

May 1 – On Rain

It can hold no more – the sodden earth. It has drunk its fill and can hold no more.

Water is everywhere. Everything is damp and wet; the roads like rivers, pools overflowing, buildings sprouting leaks where there have not been leaks before.

Tomorrow we are escaping the confines of the apartment to venture into the great soggy outdoors, where we will consume warming beverages, wear waterproof shoes, and need the ability to dance around large droplets falling from trees and other overhanging things.

To shock passersby, I may jump unashamedly into large puddles – rain streaming from my hair, unrestrained laughter.

April 6 – A change of pace

The clocks have gone back, the leaves are turning, and winter is on its way.

Already the sun is losing strength; the shadows lengthen as the days decline. The sun sets golden in the early evening against purple skies.

After a Sydney summer, the trees look almost exhausted – their leaves sapped of colour.

Down south, there are frosts overnight. Ice on car windscreens in the morning if you are lucky. Back at home after our holiday, we’ve been lucky enough to go for a swim this morning, although it won’t last for much longer.

Tomorrow, we go back to work.

March 24 – On Beauty

“Where’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to?”

Her mind flitted instantly to Paris. That’s on everyone’s most beautiful cities list, right? But not hers. Much as she loved the city, suddenly there was an image in her head that nowhere on earth could compete with.

A crisp, white blanket of fresh snow, soft as powder. Having been raised in the Southern Hemisphere, she couldn’t help but touch it.

Steam rising from the ground, smearing white across the perfect, late morning sunrise. Horses, prancing across the fresh field, frisky in the morning light.

“Paris,” she lied, keeping Iceland safe.

March 19 – The Comfort Station

It sits at an intersection on the busy Highway and a much quieter street. At one point it must have been set slightly further back; a place for families to stop when the drive from the city was more of a family outing than a daily commute.

I like to imagine the highway as a dusty track headed down to small fishing villages on the Peninsula, but of course the Comfort Station is not quite as old as that.

The subject of ridicule, love, the symbol of a city and of times gone by, offering comfort to all who pass.

March 17 – On Falling

She had leaned too far – just slightly too far, and that was all it took.

The instant feeling of vertigo transcended any feeling she had ever known, as suddenly there was no pressure on the tips of her toes; no weight except gravity tying her to the ground, far below.

She had time to marvel at the sensation of the air rushing past as she fell, the sound of it. It filled her ears, along with another sound, which took a moment to register as her own scream.

The day was fine, the sky blue.

Then she thought no more.

March 2 – On Horror Movies

The weather changed yesterday, and not in a subtle, Sydney summer kind of way, but more of an armageddon variety.

Rolling purple clouds built on the horizon, preceded by wisps of fast moving, low flying light grey cloud that looked to have the consistency and appeal of cotton candy. I wanted to reach out and touch them.

It was pure horror-movie, it looked so unreal and moved so fast that we felt sure that Godzilla, or aliens were going to burst through; that the people watching us at the cinema would be urging us to run…. RUN!!

So we did.

February 19 – On Bathurst

Mt Panorama. Conrod Straight. Forrest’s Elbow.

Skyline.

I haven’t watched car racing for years, but I was raised a petrol head. I knew the outline of the track at Bathurst like the back of my hand.

Growing up with one television in the household meant that when Bathurst was on, it was on for the whole weekend. No questions. No noise. No matter what.

I haven’t thought about it for a long time, and then tonight, while hubby was looking at a car game, all of the names popped back into my head.