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Old men sat on salt-bleached benches on the sunny side of their houses looking over the estuary and waiting for their sons to bring the boats across the sandbar at the entrance to the sea. The old men smoked their pipes and let the sun do those wonderous things it does to old bones. Tired Sailor, a lovely place for an old man to see out his last ( Read more... ) -
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Two days later, at the funeral, all the old families gathered to follow Hans' hearse up the green hill to the cemetery overlooking the sea. The families of Tired Sailor witnessed their generations' burials. They'd carved farms from the bush, driven the piles for the wharf to create a sanctuary from the sea. They'd built the church, the school, ( Read more... ) -
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We can see the lighthouse from our window in Queenscliff's solitary Bed and Breakfast. The floor of out room slopes and I don't understand champagne. Later, from the pier, you catch an enormous, rare fish the colour of coral and slowly let it go. It feels like summer. The fish swims out into deep water. I love only you. Misery is usually ( Read more... )
