While the sea in all her moods will always have my heart, there's a lot to be said for shade in the heat of the day. A sandy path through mangroves - a habitat I've only recently become acquainted with, with many fallen trees to sit upon, coming across the odd branch-house, an interesting beatle - is a pleasant way to wander.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Thursday, May 10, 2018
We started early(ish) took the dog, and walked along the shore to the river mouth. The tide was far out, but even the crabs are wusses in Queensland (with my husband and two kids being Queenslanders I'm calling it - the slightest pleasant briskness and they're moaning and whining) and it was too brisk and breezy for the usual legions of soldier crabs.
The light had a pleasant silver cast and the breeze was divine.
The cool(er) season approaches. O bliss. O yay. O thank God.
The kids are wrapping themselves in blankets to totter out of bed in the morning. This worries me for my plans to move somewhere with proper seasons - pronto. It will be sad to have to leave them behind. I may have to wait till they head off to uni. Hmm. How many (hot, hot) months away is that?
At present however, the weather is wonderful. I might even be able to wear a cardigan tomorrow! And a robe and ugg boots tonight.
I am even... wait for it... hoping to wear socks tomorrow. The world has few greater pleasures than socks after a looooong, hot, stinking, sweating, mouldering summer!
Sunday, March 11, 2018
The light flees as the storm rolls across from the mainland. Thick cloud cover hides star and moon and all but a few faint rays of the setting sun. The kids leave the shoreline for the jetty, watching entranced as a woman throws in her cast net and then drags it in full of an abundance of small silver fish.
The lights send shimmering ribbons of reflection across Pumicestone Passage and boats drive in, bringing in their haul (or not) or just stopping to pick up their fish and chips from the cafe. A much more sure-thing for a meal of fish. The light is soft, muted, the temperature gentle. The clouds bulge darker. Thunder rumbles, lightning crashes. A welcome storm. Just as we finally succeed in rounding up the children and bundling them into the car, the sky opens and the downpour begins.
We drive home in night and rain.
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Pumicestone Passage, a narrow strip of water between Bribie Island and the mainland, is not far from us. Sheltered from the swell of the sea, looking onto the Glasshouse Mountains, it is one of my very favourite places. There is mud, and white sand for the kids to play in. There are dugongs and dolphins to spot - on this trip three dolphins -or maybe porpoises - swam by, slowly surfacing and resurfacing over the space of around ten minutes, while we all squealed and ran to the shore to observe the magic. Recently, night fishing, my Wild-Boy caught in his hands, and was inked by, a small squid. He caught many more in his net, while I nearly caught a foot long crab on my fishing hook.
Under a bulging dark sky, the storm not far, lightning and thunder in waiting, Beloved fishes and the children explore the mud-flats exposed by low tide.
Beloved and I were talking recently and one of the best things for kids on the autism spectrum is occupational therapy. While I am not entirely averse to starting our Wild-Boy back at OT when he was going he kept trying to jump out of the moving car and running off before his sessions. Seeing as they went for half an hour and if he we missed half a session that was pretty much the price of a few fingers and a leg I'm not entirely for it, either. And as I pointed out, when it comes to sensory therapy, our kids get a lot from the wild.
Mud, mud, glorious mud.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
The day is hot, so hot, the air thick and oppresive with moisture. Sweat coats us all and we move slowly. Returning from school my wild boy slips outside to return red-faced with a living fish he caught in a nearby lake. We put the fish in the bath and wait for Beloved to return to deal with the hook. The heat is overwhelming. We are sluggish, headache-y. Minutes pass slowly.
Beloved returns, late, and we head to the sea. The fish is returned to it's home on the way.
And we step onto the beach and the full super-blue-blood moon (to be) hangs over the sea, and the breeze is cool and playful.
The breeze is cool. It's like a heaven-sent gift. A promise of the benediction of rain to come.
The tide is low, and we trail out over sand banks. Energy and joy returns. The older kids fish, the younger ones play in the water. The water is warm, like tepid bath water. But o - that breeze.
Soon, the younger kids are soaked through, and we strip them and they wallow naked in the brine and mud.
My little water babies, my sprites, my wild ones.