Your Sister, Kobo?

dear kobo sorry,,,sorry for lying,,,,,

but i know something of latin all the same,,,,,,if the tomatoes are saying mango mango mango i do not think they can be speaking latin,,,,

mango is the latin word for dealer,,,, no,,, i think they are more likely speaking tamil,,,,,in tamil mango is the word for a mango,,,,,

yes i have a story for you kobo it is about another beach another day a very hot day ,,,,,i was at noarlunga i was at the cliff end where the river meets the sea,,,,sitting in the water,,,,

some young humans were sitting in the water in a row,,,,, they were looking at a boy who was standing half way up the cliff on a ledge,,,,,jump they called out jump,,,,, he didn't want to then he did,,,,,,kersplash,,,, easy!!! a wussy boy ,,,,,

there were lots of humans in the river playing ,,,,,some were very white,,,, two were floating on inflatable shoes,,,, the name of the inflatable shoes was havaianas,,,,,, it looked so comfy to be floating on the havaianas,,,, the girl's was pink with flowers and the boy's was like the australian flag,,,,,,,everyone was laughing laughing,,,,,no one minded that the river was much dirtier than the sea,,,,

some big men climbed the cliff and jumped in from a higher ledge,,,, to do better than the boys,,,,some girls were looking,,,,not everyone was looking,,,,

do you like it kobo???

kobo,,,,,,no i do not think i like your stephen fry book,,,,,,i don't like funny things or universities,,,,,i am a lobster,,,,,,hurry up and finish it and give it to your sister,,,,, that reminds me kobo,,,

how is it you have a sister???? you are a fossilised clam,,,,of course there is a logical answer,,, please tell your good friend,,,,,

ageless xx

Another Walk

It is Saturday afternoon. We're walking along that section of the Linear Park between the St Peters Billabong and the University Footbridge. It is cloudy, hopeful. The trees are tall, or the path is low. Anyway, there's not too much sky.

The river is on our left. It is glossy dark brown and reflects a cliff. A white drain pipe runs down the cliff and disappears into the water, where it becomes a reflection of itself disappearing under the cliff in the opposite direction. A motionless scum floats on the surface of the water. Reeds collapsing at the edge. Orange flowers.

How are your new shoes? They hurt a bit. Do you have a bandaid? Yes, I do.

There is a smell of something. Ducks, the Zoo, sewage. Cyclists pass. Ibis, moorhen. Angry black swans.

Before we reach the Footbridge we drop something into a bin.

At the Art Gallery Coffee Shop the sun comes out. And now we are in. The interior glass superimposes ladies eating coffee and cake over a series of Margaret Prestons. Still lifes. Patterned bowls of Australian flowers. The yellow leaves from the trees in front of the gabled Curator's Lodge drift across the conversation. She loves glass.

We walk back the same way. How is it? Alright now.