View from my window
Blue. Blue.The clearest of blue water. Sparkling blue.
The You Yangs form the familiar backdrop.
A lone white yacht, elegance supreme, makes its gentle way across the bay. A stretch of white, choppy swells break briefly, to reveal two jetskies, churning the water as they zig-zag back and forth, to and fro, creating white roads in this stretch of water.
The sound of their 2-stroke motors is clearly heard. Through the centre of this picture postcard scene, a speedboat flies, closing in on a stationary fishing boat. Hardly a ripple disturbs their little vessel.
Through binoculars, I can see a line of 4 wheel drives with boats on tow, all in a row at the jetty. The midday sun glints off multiple glass, dazzling my eyes. Just out of sight from here are the throngs of tourists and visitors who have descended onto the beach of this small coastal town, increasing the population from almost 3,000 to under 20,000 during Summer.
I can almost hear their skin sizzling and smell the fish and chips which always accompanies a trip to the beach. Sometimes, a hint of garlic wafts its way to me….
I definitely feel like pizza!
The medicinal yet mildly coconut smell of sunscreen lingers in the front room where the kids have lined up to be liberally sprayed over every inch of exposed flesh before venturing outside to where sea and sand await. Oh great! Sand in everything! For days…until Autumn…forever!
On the balcony, the tiles are too hot to tempt my bare feet. The outdoor thongs ( trendy zebra pattern) are found.
The usual strident warblings of the magpie broods are strangely silent as the sounds of outdoor cricket take off over the back fence. The parents voices clearly encouraging the young ones as the ball echoes off the bat, with cries of “ Whoops and whoas.”
A gentle breeze rustles the trees, leafy and heavy and green they all are right now. The nectarines fall to the ground. They are unripened, bruised, nibbled around the edges. A pile of them lie in a heap in the shade where they fell, red and green in colour, inedible. They will shrivel and wither before I can save even one. I pick a likely specimen up and turn it over to discover some night time climber – or flyer – has been there first. Teethmarks!
By the balcony door, a potted gardenia struggles to flower. Tiny buds have formed, to result in the famous, but small, white fragrant blooms. My favorite white deckchair placed beside the pot is my place to sit and read my next mysterious book, “ The Mesmerist ” Time to move indoors when the sun comes around, necessary in the heat.
I look up to watch five pelicans ride the thermals overhead. They are so graceful.
Unseen spiders weave their gossamer fairy webs across the wooden supports of the balcony – a ritual repeated endlessly and daily.
Before moving indoors, I sit a moment, coffee in hand, sometimes wine – the mug has The Eiffel Tower on it – naturalement?! The kids over the back have put away the cricket bat and are now splashing happily in the backyard pool. “ I’m going to teach you to snorkel “ the supervising adult instructs. They all giggle together.
The sound of traffic, just a street away, heading to town, seems distant – the water sounds from next door soothe.
There is much to be grateful for at this moment.
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