I would like to walk tonight

This morning it rained and I woke to the garden steaming. The wind has stopped, finally. After months of wind, that onshore whore has blown her last job which means we must be coming into autumn. There is a sudden stilling of flowers. The bush holds her breath and the vege gardeners wonder what to plant next as the pumpkin vines and tomatoes die off.

I would like to walk tonight.

Clouds cleared away. I spent the day in the blue room, looking out to the marina occasionally. Someone dropped in for a chat. We talked about university deadlines and how many hours per unit per week. I wrote: maybe a paragraph. On my midday break the sun burned my skin. I could see the backpackers outside the laundromat, sitting around in the Sunday carpark playing guitars, their washing lines roped from van to van. I headed for the jetty.

Yes, wasn't that what Janis said after Leonard hit on her in the foyer of the Chelsea Hotel?
There is seagull shit all over the new entertainment centre complex. I walked out towards the groyne and watched the seagulls land on the bonnet of a brand new four wheel drive, the blokes in the cab eating their lunch and trying to shoo them away.

This evening a magenta light hit the eucalypts and turned their trunks to rosy gold. Their leaves, if you can imagine a red lens on brilliant green, were quite beautiful. Even the birds were quiet, startled perhaps by the absence of wind. The air was silky and quiet. Around me, the sounds and smells of dinner.

I would like to walk tonight.

In my home, I have the radio and the humming of the fridge, laughter from the house next door, the astringent taste of rosehip tea, the reversing beeps of a tractor over at the market gardens
and a warm potential in the air ...