The Valley Pool. Even if it is full of bobby pins. And the change room floor is covered with bobby pins. I'll even miss those bobby pins.
Friendly shopkeepers. The grocery store guy who noticed I'd not been in for a while and welcomed me back.
Strangers who actually stop to ask if you're ok while you're sitting by the river having a .... "moment".
My colleagues and the friends I've made. Those like-minded spirits who I respect, admire and care for.
The winter weather that's like a mild, endless summer that just pulls you outdoors.
This spacious apartment.
G Block at QUT.
Free pikelets at the election booth.
Baby water dragons running across the bike path.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Things I will miss
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Grass
I was sitting on the grass.
By the river.
Legs crossed, in the shade.
Shade from a too searing hot, mid-morning sun.
And the grass felt cool.
The river was brownish and not especially scenic.
But there was something slightly calming about it.
Water.
A body of water, separating me from buildings, roads.
It gave space to the landscape.
But between me and it was a tarmac path.
A walkway.
A bikeway.
A busy path.
I hung my head to look at the grass, and to avoid the passing people.
To try and process exactly what it was I was feeling.
And - more important - why?
The grass was very soft and very green.
Not typical of the area.
I stroked a blade between my fingers.
Stroke stroke stroke
While I thought thought thought
If it was a kitten, I'd have been stroking its head, thoughtfully.
But there was no rent-a-kitten stall here for passing meditators, troubled pedestrians.
Right then that blade of grass was my best friend in the whole world.
I loved that grass.
My fingers were very gentle with it.
People passed from time to time, walking mostly.
The odd bike swishing and ticking past.
As I gradually processed, and just let the feelings be felt.
One set of approaching footsteps seemed to sound closer than they ought.
Drawn into my orbit by a gravity.
A passing stranger. Literally.
Then he spoke.
"Are you ok?"
That was possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
By the river.
Legs crossed, in the shade.
Shade from a too searing hot, mid-morning sun.
And the grass felt cool.
The river was brownish and not especially scenic.
But there was something slightly calming about it.
Water.
A body of water, separating me from buildings, roads.
It gave space to the landscape.
But between me and it was a tarmac path.
A walkway.
A bikeway.
A busy path.
I hung my head to look at the grass, and to avoid the passing people.
To try and process exactly what it was I was feeling.
And - more important - why?
The grass was very soft and very green.
Not typical of the area.
I stroked a blade between my fingers.
Stroke stroke stroke
While I thought thought thought
If it was a kitten, I'd have been stroking its head, thoughtfully.
But there was no rent-a-kitten stall here for passing meditators, troubled pedestrians.
Right then that blade of grass was my best friend in the whole world.
I loved that grass.
My fingers were very gentle with it.
People passed from time to time, walking mostly.
The odd bike swishing and ticking past.
As I gradually processed, and just let the feelings be felt.
One set of approaching footsteps seemed to sound closer than they ought.
Drawn into my orbit by a gravity.
A passing stranger. Literally.
Then he spoke.
"Are you ok?"
That was possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Time limit
I'm sitting opposite the doctor – the specialist – and he has the results of my tests. 4 weeks in left in this life. That's not very long.
I'm on the phone to the rental agent. Last week I learned the owner had decided to sell and now the termination of my lease is confirmed. I'm going to have to pack everything up and move again.
I'm in the meeting room with the head of the company. I'd learned a week earlier about the GFC's sudden violent blow. Now he's telling us each officially one by one. My employment will terminate at the end of the month.
I'm in the warden's office, waiting for a decision on my parole. I've been on my extremely very best behaviour and, according to the rules, I know I should be allowed out in 6 months. His response is unexpected. Not paroled, but completely free in the big wide world in 4 weeks.
I'm on the phone to the rental agent. Last week I learned the owner had decided to sell and now the termination of my lease is confirmed. I'm going to have to pack everything up and move again.
I'm in the meeting room with the head of the company. I'd learned a week earlier about the GFC's sudden violent blow. Now he's telling us each officially one by one. My employment will terminate at the end of the month.
I'm in the warden's office, waiting for a decision on my parole. I've been on my extremely very best behaviour and, according to the rules, I know I should be allowed out in 6 months. His response is unexpected. Not paroled, but completely free in the big wide world in 4 weeks.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
