And down on thirsty pastures...

The rain came down in sheets in the garden.
I've submitted my job application
and my celebration was to share the wide gray sky
and be glad for the rain.

And then Norma presented me with a parking fine.

I drove to Ballajura, Pjotr Illyich in the car with me, that reassuring hiss of old cassette tapes at the back of the sound wall.
Paul had asked me to help him with some 'computer stuff' (imagine!) which luckily turned out to be only changing the icon size so we spent the rest of the night talking, sitting with Scruffy in the big red armchair and looking at old photos.
Paul was gorgeous in his youth. There were photos of the rabbiting days on the Nullarbor - 175 pairs of bunnies on the back of the ute. There were photos of sunsets too beautiful to contemplate; photos of Paul and friend soaping up in the wide Ord river... they evoked the same feelings black and white photos do - a longing, an ache for a time that's gone.
I'm glad I finally made it out there and we spent some time. Then M arrived and I drove him home, for a couple of wine spritzers on the carpet and to watch what was left of the Footy Show.

And it still rains. the skyline is only a teaser through the fuzz of cloud, but it's warm, and step one of the job process is, at least, over.

Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me, and then show me the place where he was hanged.