Sunday morning: a bike path in Brunswick, where it runs between the creek and a market garden: on the fence between the path and the garden sits a young man, probably early 20s. He has long blond hair in dreadlocks and is wearing a jacket that from a distance looks like a worker’s safety jacket; up close you can see that it’s actually jagged orange and yellow stripes on a white linen suit jacket. His orange bike has been dropped right across the path. He’s staring out across the vegetable plots, talking and pointing. He’s alone, and not talking on the phone.

Saturday; from the kew boulevarde, looking across the park to the city. 3 or 4 balloons landing, so they appear in front of the city skyline, bulbous and colourful in conrast with the grey glass towers. one has already landed and just its top half can be seen, white silk jellyfishing up from between the green trees.

Sunday morning at the Merri Creek: a woman squats at the steep edge of the creek, hauling a big wet brown Labrador out of the water by its front legs. I stop to watch in case she falls in too. The dog finally struggles up the muddy bank and bounds off, delighted. She follows, not delighted.

quick notes:


the HOusing commission flats shining gold in the dawn light, a mauve sky behind them, grey clouds dipped in orange dust.

the girl with dark hair and skin running up a hill in clifton hill after a small white dog; carrying it back down.

"slow down traffic hazard ahead" sign on the new bike bridge over city link. a/v equipment being set up and I guess they're officially opening the bridge, which means politicians. hazard indeed.

on Footscray Road, a lone bike in front of the waiting trucks and cars at the red light inbound: balancing perfectly on two wheels.

yesterday outside uni, a cordial conversation with a lovely young man about why I wouldn't give him money for the Lost Dog's home; because it encourages it (street solicitation), I said. he thought I meant more people would ask me specificially; then he said well yes, it is the most effective means of getting donations, which kind of proved my point.

and this morning, a conversation at the market (location and name changed because it's real)

Man A, working: "Because today's... not a good day"
Man B: "Why not?"
"It's Alison's daughter's anniversary."
....
"And I'm here and she's not." (ie Alison, who would normally be working on that stall.)

...shadows of death and loss and grieving over an everyday transaction at a market stall.