The sky over Lake Monger today was a riot of light and a mess of colour. Clouds upon clouds, lining up but jostling for space, rainbows peeking out, then hiding again, and all this through gently smattering rain. Running was a joy. The birds, of course, were out in force.

It has been a mad week, lots of work, a little disillusionment, a lot of positive energy, especially towards the end of the week. And the good news is, little Krampusz might go back to his original owners (and become known as Weston again), so that aspect of our break is solved as well.

And now, while I prepare dinner, here is Phillip Adams to keep me company. And speaking of PA, a couple of nights ago, his guest was Ariel Dorfman, a Chilean exiled author and human rights activist who spoke with such gentle wisdom and generosity. They were a great pairing, chatting for an hour. Balm for the gratings of the day.

The dangers of cycling

Yesterday afternoon, my most excellent housemates, the Blackcurrants, took me out cycling for the first time in public. Yes, I like RPM and yes they forced me to watch the Tour de France last year...but neither of these things prepared me for the bumtingling excitement of being out on the open road. Okay, it was only the three and a bit k's to Subi, but it was an adventure. And halfway there I had 'relations' with the bike: ie the saddle went up my bum when I stacked into the fence separating the shared path from the electrified train tracks below. I was laughing so hard I had trouble articulating that I was, actually, alright.
We had tea at Churros in Subi (god how I yearned for beer) and then rode back, again with incident, as Matt bumped and scraped most of his shin off mere metres from home.

We made a funny saladbowl of a family as we settled down to a cous cous dinner and to watch the Usual Suspect. And boy did I sleep well afterwards.

M emailed me today, suggesting that he hadn't quite grasped the finality of what we discussed on Thursday. He asked if I would still be going to meet his parents in July, and going to Croatia? I paused for a long time, hands hovering over the keyboard because I knew that this was the big step. Telling his parents I had left was the full stop. I hit send, hoping I wasn't being too hurtful, and he has written back since, everyday things like what the hell we're going to do with the cat... but it would seem that both of us are going to be ok.

Oh and yesterday when i called Mum, I got to speak not only to her, but my gorgeous Grandmother, who regaled me with tales of how naughty-yet-irresistible Pista is, and to dear Cuni. I can't wait to see them all in July. Which reminds me: must see about Rancid tickets too...

There is always light somewhere

It has been a beautiful weekend so far, and I am so glad it's not over yet. Our minimalist skyline is visible through my bedroom window and the air is so balmy even long sleeves are unnecessary. Breakfast on the balcony today was delectable. Baconless, but delectable. And don't get me started on the concentration of canine cuteness at the dog beach!

I had a good talk with L yesterday morning at the Bhodi Tree in Mt Hawthorn, a place which reminded me of that old hippy shop in Geelong...Back to Basics. And just as the whoosh of memories was about to swamp me, L said that even after all this time, and a happy marriage she feels longing for Victoria. Apparently the cafe in Country Road in the city is redolent with Melbourney feeling.

After our tea I walked around the shop, slowly savouring having a free Banana-weekend to do whatever I wanted and then drove home, blaring Greenday and smiling.
And so it went, shopping, washing, cleaning and all the while I was okay in my head. I didn't need constant outside stimulation. In fact, when I sunk into my bath in the late afternoon I didn't even read. Frank Moorhouse lay wet spattered on the tiles and i just looked at the ceiling and thought. I am okay.

Then risotto, a film, a manicure, a welcome visitor and suddenly it was Sunday. Now the Blackcurrants are threatening me with a bike ride so I thought I'd write in case I don't make it back.

A spell to bless the silence

According to John Montague this is what poetry is. A spell to bless the silence.

In the silent wind whipped night last night at Trigg my tears felt like burning icicles on my face and my eyes stung behind my glasses. But it was beautiful. To the right, all the way to Mullalloo the lights twinkled and to the left, I imagined my cranes.

And now, listening to the gentle, patient voice of Mick Harvey (what a find!) I am feeling okay. Clean and lighter somehow.

Some things I have learned recently:

• If someone says things enough, even if they are blatantly wrong, sooner or later they will become belief inside you
• A whispered compliment can bring a smile for days after it is heard
• There is a constellation called Norma. Seriously.
• Real friends don't say I told you so. And they make you noodle soup. And tea.

Standing under that great dome of Monday night, reasonably far from light-noise, or light-pollution I hefted up my burden above my head and saw the stars behind my eyelids.

On this little flash drive, not only do I have some excellently bad house music and general doof doof, but Mike was also kind enough to furnish me with a pretty good selection from over a decade's worth of Triple J Hottest 100. I feel like I'm back in high school.

I feel a lot of nostalgia now actually...i always do around my birthday, and this year, like most years, is shaping up quite nicely.
Geelong Collingwood tonight at the Greeny with mates, then brunch after a run with Mat and Kili tomorrow, then out in 'the bridge later on and lunch on Sunday. But something is missing. Bud is missing. And the community. And the possibilities ensonced just there in that smallish pocket of Victoria. I even feel a longing for Geelong. True story.

I ran through and looked at about 200 photos a friend had posted in FB of a trip to the South Island of NZ. My god it looks beautiful. And the misty wintry landscape and palpable cold actually made me yearn for places like Bright. Cold places. Clean and fragile cold.

I feel it necessary to update today's post, as my mood has lifted vastly during the day.

There is humour and so much goodness.

I'm going for a run after work (7km plus ample dynamic stretching) and then perhaps some comedy tonight. Brendon Burns anyone? Dave the pet lizard?

There is thin, winter light and hope resplendent.

(And there is Rancid in Vienna in July) :-)

Elusive sleep. 3am.
I snuggle down under the doona, head propped between two pillows, I open the book by Tasma Walton that I bought in the familiar confines of BB in Geelong.
I finished it all in one reading, putting it down sometime around 5.30 and crushing my head into sleep. Is it any wonder that I didn't wake rested at 7.30 when M called?'

Brooding weather outside, pushing and calling, and I'm not sure which voices I fully understand. The three yearly itch. It dawned on me that I have been in Perth roughly three years now, okay a bit more and the scratchings from the east coast are growing increasingly difficult to ignore.

Rain, wind and tailored winter clothes. Hats askance and my chin buried in a well twirled scarf. I long for community. And when I run, imagine sun splashes on the floorboards of my dream home, yet when I look around I struggle with other features...somehow I still haven't recognised myself.