Full moon over my shoulder and Venus ahead. (My Dad said once, "Venus is the oldest prostitute in the world. First out at night and the last to leave.") Sun sets over sandhills across the water. Wind turbines turn lazylike.
Phosphorescent blue navigation lights - when they line up you are home safe, burning off smoke lays low over the land, car lights track the edge of the harbour. Colours quick silver the glass-off sea.
A bird flies home, coo-ees coordinates.
Washing murmers on the hippy line, basket in the grass beneath, an up ended bicycle. A possum!
Our red flag undulates. The lime tree. Top step outside the chook pen gate - the best view in the world. Sausage curry smell. Black cat. Potatoes. A wheel barrow. Garlic.
My toes cooling.
Evans and Tate on my tongue.
(It's not so bad after all!)