and this morning: foggy, about to rain, a sunless dawn; appropriately, rode up the hill to Reservoir, which I can't believe is only half an hour's ride from my home. another world of long grass growing through car chassis in front yards, burned-out squats. admittedly that is the main road, which is probably worse than the side roads. I didn't go down them to look. the notion of pit bulls occurred to me and I turned back down the St Georges Road hill to home. yappy hew near.

oh, and I forgot to add: where the tents were set up on the riverbank for New Year's eve: two security guards, one dark, one white, sitting in one tent with a big sign above them: LOST CHILDREN.

new year's eve; awake since 5 am with the heat and an annoying issue that threatened to force me to work in the holidays, which I detest. rode in along the Yarra - too warm for mist this morning - carrying 2010 in my pannier. scored a coffee and sat on a bench outside the market scratching away with a pen on bits of purple sticky note, consulting the diary, organising and planning for the year to come.

random ride, coffee-driven; in to the (closed) market then up to Ti Amo. then down Johnston street to the river trail, just to add distance. where (in Johnston) I discovered a little gallery with a show called Street Level, that doesn't even have a site I can link to, all about maps and grids, which I have written a lot about. the words "street level" were pasted up on the window. the letters had been cut out of the Melway.

Sunday morning: out in the country for a change. on the cheap and nasty country bike, but all the same: the morning sun cutting through the cool shadows of the gum trees. the faint whiff of earth from the old diggings on either side of the road. rabbits. millions of rabbits. easy hills bending left or right as if to add a bit of interest. a bike ride in the shape of a capital "Y" - down the Vaughn road, turning back at the top of the steep hill I didn't want to ride back down, then left and a little way down the Guildford road. then back again down the trunk of the Y to Yapeen, where the family was still sleeping in the old stone cottage, the trees needed a drink and the rabbit proof fence was awaiting repair.

three mornings, three moments:

a few days before Christmas, coming into town on the Yarra trail; the rowers out early, as usual. a girls' eight, rowing in red reindeer antlers. and the cox, gliding along behind them wearing a Santa hat. the coach on the shore on a bike. no decorations at all.

the Monday before Christmas: the market was supposed to be open today. maybe it was. but not by 7.10 am, when I needed my coffee. institute emergency procedures and head north to Ti Amo. thank God for the Italians.

this morning. Christmas. a poor sleep; up late wrapping presents from Santa (the kid is only 6). next door's dog barked after midnight, waking me and the kid, who then realised that his stocking was full and the reindeer's carrot had been chewed. Santa's been already, he said. and I said, yes, that must be what the silly dog was barking at. it took an hour to get him settled again and get to sleep myself. and then I woke at 5.30 am with a full day of Christmas hosting before me. rode aimlessly, through town, down Collins Street to the harbour. crossing King Street, I noticed a cop car outside a strip club. about 20 men, probably late 20s/early 30s, milled around on the pavement. a couple were getting into a cab. there was no violence, but there was its possibility. I watched from a good distance, and wondered; it's Christmas. these men are not homeless, or poor. why are they here? why are they not home with their girlfriends, mothers, even sisters? and thought about the dangers of men with no attachments to the world, nothing to give their lives meaning, to make a place for them. I left before the cop car drove off, and rode home to my child.

nature day Saturday: a small, greyish baby bird, sitting on the very steep path past the pipe bridge. bikes come down that path super-fast. there's a netting fence around it to stop people short-cutting across the erodeable slope. bird was sure to be skittled. so I stopped, put my rain jacket over the soft squirming thing (some nestlings fight: this one was either gentle, exhausted or terrified) and put it on the other side of the fence. It was still there, a metre or so away, when returned. I hope its parents will find it and feed it. either way, I have learned that it's not a good idea to bring baby birds home. they just die. i did what I could.

and then, ten minutes later, I looked down and there was a big COCKROACH on my right knee! reflex kicked in and I slapped my knee just next to it, knocking it off. ouch that stung.

adrift in the scrubby trees before the Big Hill on the Yarra trail: three green balloons, tied together, decorated with Happy Birthday in white.

coming back: a boy with I think his grandfather. aged about 10-11. kicking a stick into my path and glaring at me. again, there are things in the world that affect us, but we can do nothing about. I wonder what his story is: clearly an unhappy, angry boy, possibly struggling with existence in general.

waiting for cars to pass at Bulleen Road: a huge purple cement mixer goes past, blows a rush of air into my face. the driver probably didn't even see me. at the top of the hill past the golf course, a motorbike with its light on goes past, equally close. I feel invisible.

this morning: out on the racing bike, caffeinated. coming down a hill, I see a bird ahead. I think, well, bird small, world big. better to hit the bird than the planet. and I think about how the bird is really part of the planet, and so am I, sliding down this road at 40 kilometres an hour, harnessing gravity and the air rushing in my face and for a moment I really am part of everything and it's bliss to be a living thing.