Triangles of Spangles

Perhaps it will work for you if I explain it, Pliny, I said.

Go on, he replied, but symbolism is of little use if it has to be explained.

Alright I won't then, I said.

No, go on. Why does the triangle of spangles represent political harmony?

Because it has three sides, equally balanced, I said.

You didn't say it was an equilateral triangle, said Pliny.

Well it was. Each side represents the players in the political drama that we are currently faced with, Labor, the Coalition, and the Independents and Greens.

That is four, said Pliny, reasonably. Or five if you split the Coalition.

Alright, I said. But you could think of them as three.

You could, agreed Pliny. It is interesting, he added, that a triangle of light was formed on the surface of the sea. Was there a triangular hole in the clouds?

No, isn't that just the way the sun shines on the sea? Spreading from a point on the horizon?

Of course not, said Pliny scornfully. It generally throws a straight path across the water from the horizon to the observer.

Oh, I said. Then it was more an omen than a symbol. Just like your baby whale! And you know what? Later on in the afternoon I saw a dolphin! I remember it clearly now.

Pliny sighed.

Election Day Snaps

1. It is very cold outside the Korean Church at 8 o'clock in the morning. We arrange a few boards and posters. Christopher Pyne rocks up in his big election car. I don't think the Korean Church will like your poster on their railing, he says. Won't they? I say. No, he says making a scowly-Pyney face.

2. It is icy cold, and getting colder. I hop back and forth over a puddle to keep warm, and shuffle the How to Vote cards.

3. The Greens man greets everyone with: "Smile at the future?" An old lady says angrily: No way! Later he tries to hang his poster in a tree. It falls down. The sun comes out momentarily. He asks me if I want to borrow a hat. I say no thanks, even though I would like to see his hat.

4. A small boy is sobbing on the pillion of a parked motor bike. His mother addresses him loudly from the voting queue: I should have made it clearer, Darren. It's not time for the Museum yet. Darren's sobs become increasingly theatrical.

5. In the afternoon, we are at Surrey Downs. The Greens man there thinks that he knows me. Did your kids used to go to Irish Dancing lessons? he asks. No, I say, they didn't.

6. It is still freezing cold in the shade outside the polling booth. Round the corner, in the sun, four children are playing. One has a bike. Run us over! shout the other three. They stand with their legs apart and their arms wide open, pelvises thrust forward tauntingly, even the little sister in her short pink coat. The one on the bike rides towards them, but turns at the last minute. Chicken, says one of the boys.

7. Nina has left us sandwiches and a drink. The drink is Diet Blood Orange.

8. At the after party, in the Bowling Clubrooms at the Paddocks, it gets hotter and hotter. We watch the results on a screen. They show misleading sets of numbers and we can't hear what anyone's saying, but the local candidate seems to have won. Everyone claps. But he's on his phone. It's not looking good for Labor.

9. We probably have a hung parliament. Now I'm in bed, wondering whether today really happened.

Winking

Pliny the Elder came into the kitchen and sneezed.

Bless you, I said. How did you go last night? I bet you were cold. Did you spot any Barking Owls?

I was unimaginably cold, said Pliny, and wet through, since it hardly stopped raining all night. But my expedition was well worth the trouble. Take a look at this!

He pressed several buttons and held out my camera.

Look at the screen, he said.

What is it? I asked. It looks like a round metal washer.

Look again, said Pliny. It is the eye of a Barking Owl.

Why is there only one of them?

Also known as the Winking Owl, said Pliny.

I'm impressed, I said. Did you hear it scream?

No, it would seem that the screaming is rare. But I did hear a great deal of barking.

You must be very encouraged, Pliny, I said.

Aaaa-choo ! Bless me! Indeed I am. I plan to return to the hills tomorrow to search for the Restless Flycatcher, also known as the Scissors Grinder. I believe it can be easily identified by the 'zeeep' of its contact call, and the grinding churring sound it makes when hunting. It looks something like a Willy Wagtail, except that its throat is white instead of black.

Oh, I said. So you won't be coming with us to help hand out How to Vote cards for the Labor Party in Sturt and Makin?

Unfortunately not, said Pliny. And in any case, I thought you knew I was a Green.