1: The headland after rain
For once promised rain actually eventuates. Not a heap, but more than we’ve had for months. I don’t get up till and unheard of 11 am after an all-night read: is this still a peculiar kind of jet-lag? My determination to walk is undiminished, and I enjoy an unaccustomed world of long puddles in Trunketabella Street.
Rain has worked its miracle of making things more vivid: the bark on spotted gums; the lichen on casuarinas; the moss on the track behind the dunes.
But there is a reminder of bushfire in the rather puny burn parallel to the desiccated creek.
II: A dash round two blocks
It’s cold, beanie cold; a skivvy and jumper cold; thick sox cold. It’s astonishing how this speeds me up. I divert briefly before the hill spurt to watch my son inside a sizeable wave. my photo actually captures a lull in sizeable.
Waterpipes are being replaced in the village so men – and one woman – in hi-viz yellow are everywhere.
I amble past a second group: six men and one woman stand around a big hole where one man is digging.
The creek is dry, dry, dry and desiccation continues, although spring flourishes in hakea and grevillea.
And in a litter of four puppies, which my son eyes longingly.
III: Bits of Bermagui, Cobargo and en route