The New York City summer breeze gently swarms into my room tickling the bottom of my left foot. Rainbow sparkling lights begin to dance around on my orange wall migrating into the “Good Times” painting by Ernie Barnes.
I have travelled to many places in the world since I was twenty one and not too many rival the picturesque beauty of coming home to Sydney Harbour. I'm blessed that I have this view outside one of the rooms in my apartment. When I sit down at my computer and look to my right this beautiful view never fails to take my breath away.
The news was out. Countries were closing down, barring their borders. The sick are coming for us. Hide, isolate. News outlets and gossip columns alike were spreading fear among the world. Everywhere I turned some warning was staring me down.
Today was the first day since the middle of March that I drove out to another city just to pass through. I had gotten so used to looking at the world from the other side of my window, that I had forgotten what other places looked like.
Do you hear it? That noise which will shake you with a longing for escape. I hear it now, that noise of old travel and rusty steel. The humid night air hits my already sweaty skin as I push open the squeaky basement window. The train is far; farther than I'd like, but I stay and listen. I let the noise wash over me. First my bruised and scarred hands, then my tattered and scratched up arms. It inches its way along my body until it reaches the very bottom of my feet, making them ache. Is this what its like to have nostalgia for a past I've never lived?
Funny how you can spend your whole life in one place and only feel like you truly see it when you're forced to get down amongst prickly sticks of fresh green grass — up close and personal.
Everyone calls the Maple river the “Muddy” Maple. The bottom is so muddy you sink when you walk on it. It feels like you have weights on your feet, it is like quicksand! The water looks a nasty brown because of the mud. If it did not have its muddy bottom the water would be as clear as a bottled water. The “Muddy” Maple smells fishy, just after a summer storm.
As the holiday weekend approaches, my husband and I are looking forward to our journey to the summer home in Gloucester. We recently renovated the house, and between the new cabinets of dark midnight blue and slate grey, the new faux wood floors, open floor space, new yellow and egg shell paint; the house is almost brand new again. Gone is the drabness of the seventies chic. The old dark wooden cabinets, the drabness of the foam green and, baby blue paint all but a memory preserved in old photographs of the past. Luckily the orange shag rug had disappeared before I got there but there is evidence of that in the old photographs as well.