Sunday, June 17, 2018

Variations of Ephemeral

Variations on a theme - slightly closer to the Glasshouse Mountains, this is just before the inhabited part of Bribie Island becomes National Park.

We left home in a flurry of bait and jackets and arrived just as the sun was setting. This is my favourite beach along Pumicestone Passage - a little more remote, a little closer to the Glasshouse Mountains, backed only by trees and then a line of houses, rather than the walkways, shops, playgrounds that are common closer to the bridge over to the mainland. While I am the first to respect provisioning of loos and playgrounds, it's nice to be in a place less bound. We cross four bridges to reach it, a fact that brings me more joy than you would think.

My Diva does not approve. Without other children or a playground, she declines to leave the comfort of the car. "Don't you want to get in touch with your inner mer-girl? Commune with your nature-spirit? Experience the wild and wonder?"
"No, mother. I am staying here."

She's over fishing. I suspect she'll take it up again later, but the sudden change to a fishing family has been too much for her. I, myself, am finding the constant odour of bait in the car, getting my hair tangled in hooks from rods crammed in the car, a bit trying. But getting the kids easily to the beach. Begging to be outdoors. Completely worth it. And the little girls are still young enough to find delight in sand and water and the birds that pass by.

"Look, mama, bait!" In six months my Giggle-Bear has developed into a fishing-girl. That isn't a ribbon she's holding - it's a long, red, worm, about to be hooked.

Mostly, I don't get the kids to pose. I let them do their thing and take photos - but every so often I do say 'Could you dance for me' - or 'leap' - 'just there, no at that spot there.'

The play of shadow and light, the sheen of the water and the smudging of the clouds doubled over in silken reflection is a delight. I wade into the water and a sting ray raises itself from the sand and glides off. Later, I wade in again, deeper, and the same stingray fluffs up the sand around itself, then, in a huff, glides away into the deep.

Dark comes, my Wild-Boy doesn't want to leave. "We've only just arrived! This is just the start of my fishing trip!'
"School tomorrow."
The stars are brilliant as we make our way up the treed slope to the car, and head back over the bridge towards home.

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