We went down to the shore to watch the spring tide come in so fast it made waves. Tuesday and it will be a 'King Spring' tide, the biggest all year at 1.5 metres.
Surprise! Hermit crabs wriggle away from me when I'd though it was only shells at my feet. Water rushes in to the littoral, the in between space of land and sea. The stumps of the old pearl workers' huts in the sand and scraps of copper with nail holes ... band aids for wooden boats.
Mangrove spikes in the mud and a boy wearing a red shirt stepping through the mud with a spear in his hand.
I walk down to the diving girl early next morning. It's Grand Final Day and a forklift driver is busy unloading pallets of beer, speakers blaring reggae from the gas bottle on the back. Crows call from the Boab and then begin to mimic another bird, a call I don't recognise. Two legged walking clever one that crow. A hawk with a stick in its beak alights on another feathery tree.
Past the old pearl masters' houses nestled behind the primary dune, tropical constructions of corrugated iron and lattice.
And back to my abode for the weekend ... looxury ... an outside shower in what feels like a jungle. The jungle seems to sleep in the heat of the day and come alive at night as the palms rustle and crash and screech with owls and critters and possums.
Those dynamic tides and sudden changes in water level are similar to my inlet but on a vaster scale and I think it would be way too cold to have a shower like this at home.