Another Sunday

And the moon is swimming naked
and the summer night is fragrant

alright, not quite summer, but when I got out of the car at Zoli's house and the moon was askance over the roof, drifting in a negligee of cloud the scent of violets was so strong in the night.

I have been weepy and emotional all day today, so perhaps those whisky sours had more punch than I gave them credit for. My eyes flew open at 6.40 and I had a strange panicked feeling, that I had lost something or forgotten something. I got up, coffeed and began to work. It's agonisingly slow work, and also hard to stay focused because I really don't give a shit about it anymore, and that's an almost impossible way for me to work.
B and I decided to go try Charlie's for breakfast - I couldn't have faced egg whites again - and called Zoli when we were there. It was a strong, sunny morning and it felt fantastic to dare my legs at the sun (don't know how the good residents of Wembley felt about it). A sort of fug of misery descended when i took B to work after breakfast and I know it sounds uncharitable, but I felt like saying hey you're not the only one that has worked on weekends... but why bring that up Banana, after all?

I drove home to change and put some water and writing materials in a backpack and then drove to Reabold Hill, where the carpark was full, so I circled around to Tuart Park and left Little Car there, heading off into the fragrant bush. I felt electric. Momentarily I felt so happy I could have leapt and danced around. But I didn't.
I walked fast, I relished the harder bits, thinking that the more I do this kind of walking, the closer I am to finally finishing the Cape to Cape. The vegetation was incredible. Technically right in the city, yet it felt far removed. Trees with exquisite bark that looked like skin and flowers and flowers and flowers.

I reached the top of the hill and the Indian Ocean spread out in a heartbreaking vista and I burst into tears. Why, I have no idea. But luckily there were only two evil-looking magpies there so no-one saw.
Later, on the way back to the car I passed an old couple, at least 70 - fully equipped with hiking gear, and walking hand in hand. Yet I didn't cry about that. And I thought to myself yet again, that there must be something missing in me, because I am more moved by and drawn to places than I am to people.

As so often happens, after that hour's walk I couldn't bear the thought of returning home, so I zipped down to Floreat to dip my feet in the water, but I also took a long walk along the undulating sand and looked for treasures and took a picture or two.

On the drive home, I decided to take a suburban detour. I remember how returning to Corio after ten years' absence i still felt the streets in my marrow. That soul-memory. And I thought how nice it would be to get to know my area of Perth that well. So I just went where the road took me, and I may have found that Herdsman fruit shop Zoli is always telling me to try...

When I picked up B from work and we were headed to Zoli's, a car cut in front of me from the opposite direction and we almost crashed. He braked and apologised, saying he wasn't paying attention but Balint yelled so loudly that I just shut down and generally felt sick. That was worse than the fright from the almost-collision.

Dinner with Zoli was quiet, and my favourite part of it was the Nandi-love. I miss having a cat so much sometimes I almost feel like I deserve to be a single thirtysomething cat lady. I miss Pista. But Mum sends lardy cat updates with her new camera.

next week I will be another man's PA, while Dave is on holiday - oh the challenges :)

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