Me
April 4th 2008 12:57
Sunday.
Snakey path to the top of the hill – facing home, the Academy on the long away hill to the right with the hills behind me.
The getting there includes a walk within the afternoon stillness, past trees that feel as if they’re really there – almost a weight, physically felt.
... Peripheral vision senses colour all around, no longer separate but part of the all - dogs barking, languid summer air, enveloped by the being there. Almost home. Stop. They're on the oval again. Laughter coz of things not caught. Traffic noise and siren fading.
Descending from behind, the moon but it is the colours in front that capture. Rough seashell sky reminds me of a Disney illustration from the old days, safe and knowing where I was in the scheme of everything. Exhale. I can feel the air moving, making me feel warm. Alive.
Stand. Smell the wood smoke from their BBQs, a little peek in to their lives, the murmur of voices indistinguishable from the other sounds of that place and time –a calling home, the little ones enjoying the last part of their Sunday –tomorrow too far away to be of concern. Life.
Watching the close of the day fills me up. Colours in front fade but the shadow in front of me grows longer. Chill plus crickets.
I take that back to where I live. Next memory - the 901 to Frankston to get there b4 8.30am.
Snakey path to the top of the hill – facing home, the Academy on the long away hill to the right with the hills behind me.
The getting there includes a walk within the afternoon stillness, past trees that feel as if they’re really there – almost a weight, physically felt.
... Peripheral vision senses colour all around, no longer separate but part of the all - dogs barking, languid summer air, enveloped by the being there. Almost home. Stop. They're on the oval again. Laughter coz of things not caught. Traffic noise and siren fading.
Descending from behind, the moon but it is the colours in front that capture. Rough seashell sky reminds me of a Disney illustration from the old days, safe and knowing where I was in the scheme of everything. Exhale. I can feel the air moving, making me feel warm. Alive.
Stand. Smell the wood smoke from their BBQs, a little peek in to their lives, the murmur of voices indistinguishable from the other sounds of that place and time –a calling home, the little ones enjoying the last part of their Sunday –tomorrow too far away to be of concern. Life.
Watching the close of the day fills me up. Colours in front fade but the shadow in front of me grows longer. Chill plus crickets.
I take that back to where I live. Next memory - the 901 to Frankston to get there b4 8.30am.
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