-
Butterflies over the water
The sun’s out and there are butterflies over the water at Umina. The 6:30 am crew are debriefing below the deck of the Umina Beach Surf Life Saving Club after a meandering swim from ‘Scarlett’ to Ocean Beach and back.
-
Perhaps it takes courage to raise children
The baby is swaddled loosely, asleep in a Moses cot at the end of the couch, his froggy legs squat against a white fluffy lambskin rug, gifted to him by an aunt. White noise hums softly from a plastic monkey curled around the handle of the basket. He sighs and shifts peacefully. In the background,…
-
Adaptation: swimming through fire and pandemic
Driving down the curved road to Bondi, the bay sparkles blue, white sand open, empty and inviting. I get out of the car and the wind whips and stings my face. Bondi has re-opened for swimming and surfing following a COVID-19 necessitated closure, and my swim group and I – the Bondi Swimblers – make…
-
Notes from a State on fire
Sydney woke early today. Very early. The southerly buster slammed through the city rattling windows and shaking trees. The wind brought dread. Half-awake thoughts turned to the towns on the edges of fire, battling to keep the beast at bay. In the dark we wondered, are they okay? What does this mean for them? Have…
-
Summer swimming
I have been swimming my way through heartbreak and frustration. When I swim I count my breaths as I stroke, slowly up and down the pool lanes, or across the bay at Bondi, each stroke a metronome tick: one, two, three, four. I entered the water in spring a stranger to myself. My body was…
-
Mountain time
We walked into the mountains with our clothes on our backs in borrowed bags, our technical fabrics sleeked in icy rain. The land was grey and green in those parts; the mountains echoed a deep, cold blue back against the light and onto our skins, which made us look pale and fragile in the way…
-
He used to stand at my bookcase
He used to stand at my bookcase, reading through the titles. Was he interested in what the books were about? What they said about me? Or had we already run out of things to say to each other? Once, he laughed and said: “Did you know you have a book here called My year of…
-
Last train to Milan
I’m on my last train in Italy, bound for Milano. I had a cheeseburger, chips and beer earlier, killing time at the station. At the foot of the stairs to the platform, I took a deep breath and steadied myself against the railing, preparing to lug my giant pack up two flights of stairs. I…
-
Right author right book right time
I’d never heard of the poet before Monday. And then I left the TV on too late and I saw her. And then I was gifted a ticket and I saw her. And I was gifted another ticket and I saw her. And I heard her and I felt her and I pulled her words…
-
Goodbye pink couch
Goodbye pink couch. I didn’t really say that as the removalists kicked off the last of your legs and dumped you by the side of the road. I guess that’s because you’re a couch, and can’t speak, or use language at all. You don’t fit in here in this white-walled timber-floored down-lit inner-west two-bedroom apartment,…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Nicole Holyer 