tales from an ordinary world

2002-09-21

People are eating raisin toast for breakfast in the street cafe, spreading the butter on thick while shoppers pass them by. It's a nice day, and so I make my way to the small pier for the first time since before winter hit.

A rescue boat noisily speeds off in a large arc around the lighthouse, out of sight. Across the suddenly silent beach, somebody's phone does a familiar morse code "s-m-s" beep sequence. Now I can hear a man singing. I can hear aircraft. Screech of traffic. Squeal of roller-coaster riders. Lazy conversations. People talking in chinese, on either side of me.

I remember when we sat right here on the concrete part of the pier - it was a warm December evening, and we'd bought some small cakes in Acland St while we revelled in the thrill of the unknown.

There's still time before my haircut appointment, so I wander across the shopping strip and into the park and lie on the grass, listening to the birds, and the songs that pop into my head.