Skip to main content

Red sails in the sunset

Tasty.

He looks up, and notices a vibrant red sunset that turns everything blood red.

Realises it’s an image captured in an Asian sweatshop.

The iconic image of a man with a conical hat on a bamboo raft somehow reflecting the essence of sunshine at the end of a day while also capturing the eerie sadness of a lifestyle that no longer exists. 

It seems to be fitting that the image sits on a brick wall in a rented suburban home.

The home sits in a suburb where fruit orchards used to be. Now its surrounded by other brick palaces, rented from a Chinese capitalist.

Like the man in the conical hat, he senses the faint echoes of an impossible suburban dream. 

Stoically he cradles fading Sunday afternoon memories as the last rays of the sun disappear below the metaphorical horizon at the end of a day in an era long ago. 

Tomorrow is Monday. Back to work.

A fan hisses in the background, stirring the warm humid air from late afternoon inertia. Fingers tap on the keyboard as thunder rumbles.

Smiles as he recalls the story he told to his son in thunderstorm season. It’s just a cloud coughing.

Wet drops of condensation, forming on a cold drink, roll down the side of the can.

Lightening crackles close now, creating bright bursts.

Shadows shivering, dancing, as shapes dance across the faded wall.

Birds scream and dive, seeking shelter from the storm.

Trees thrash their leaves wildly, moshing their branches in the gusting wind.

Pool toys chatter excitedly, and one reaches out to ride the gale. 

All gasp as it sails over the fence. Even swollen, pink pool toys long for the freedom of the open air.

Escaping a watery desert for a moment of freedom, they are soon impaled on the neighbour’s clothesline, and flutter angrily like a ridiculous faded fluorescent flag.

Thus goes a sticky Sunday summer afternoon on the east coast of Australia.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Handstands

I’m waiting for a coffee on a Saturday morning, standing next to the counter in a suburban shopping centre. Around the corner comes a Mum with three spirited children. The impact of the small family on the shopping centre energy is palpable. The children are full of life, and the mother has her hands full as the little troupe, aged five, four and three, I estimate, engage with everything with energetic gusto. ‘No running’, Mum says to Mr 4, as a four-year-old energetic boy goes tearing past me. Mum turns around to see the three-year-old walking slowly behind. ‘Come on’, she says to Mr 3, coaxing the littlest one to quicken his pace. Distracted from the older members of the troupe for a few short moments, Mum turns around and sees Mr 4 doing a cool breakdance style handstand in the middle of the shopping centre floor. ‘No handstands’, Mum says. She does not see the coolness in Mr 4’s handstand.  Mr 3, however, is visibly impressed and cannot resist the call of acr...
Post a Comment
Read more

Chapter 2

Not again, she thinks to herself. And then the stairwell begins to lose its composition. Damn she says. It's early.  She grips the balustrade, knowing that it's useless. In the realisation, grips harder and closes her eyes.  This, at least, is helpful. The visual experience was harrowing the first time. It still is, but at least this time it is somewhat expected and 'normal'. Remembers the first time, it must have been 3 months ago now. Was sitting at a cafe in her home town, the smell of fresh waffles thick in the morning air, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Ethiopian, she knows. Pip and Pup was a weird name, but the coffee was to die for. The light has been different, that morning, and she wonders how it might have been different if she had not needed to use the bathroom at Pip and Pups.  She had walked down the passage past the kitchen, and the passage seem to stretch out and bend to the right. Even though she had screamed loud, no one paid any attenti...
Post a Comment
Read more

Ancestors

It's been a long time.  A long time since I thought about him. And today I visited his grave. Actually, its not really his grave. His mother was buried there many years ago, and his ashes were scattered there after his cremation.  His brother thought this was the best place for him to rest . I'm not sure what I expected. Perhaps I thought that this would give me "closure", or a feeling of relief. Perhaps it's been so long, and the emotion and feelings are hidden behind many years.  We drove on long straight deserted roads, through old mining areas and tired looking cattle yards.  We passed across the marks of an old burnout, and drove through Jarrah forests and pine tree plantations.  As we got close to the cemetery, I felt something stirring deep in my belly. The stirring of pain, trauma and emotion long forgotten. The cemetery was a quiet simple clearing setback from the main road and surrounded by virgin bush. Some overgrown bushes covered the path, and I par...
Post a Comment
Read more