Walking there, the air is heavy with humidity. A girl with a bob and lanky limbs rides her bike after her friend. The great cloud looms, there is expectancy in the weight of the air. They sit about, beers in stubbies, thongs thrust eagerly forward on complacent feet. Striped awnings flap and there someone tugs on a guy rope for security. Flap, flap. She sits on the edge of the balcony leaning on her knees, phone pressed to her ear watching as three walk past, two prams – trying to put the babies to sleep. A little girl takes off her shoes and complains about her hat, she goes to sit on her tricycle, the handle is around the wrong way. Seagulls line the roof, ruffled by the breeze that is lifting the edges of tents; they are perfecting symmetry. The ocean noise is messed about momentarily by someones radio then it is still. This is an ageless Australia, rain is coming.
Published January 8, 2015 by Rebecca Matheson