First Rain.

After almost four years without our summer rains clouds are gathering and we have already had over one inch of rain, delivered in the first real electrical storm for years. We have had rain but not the thrilling light shows we are used to. Sometimes we have watched lightening flash in awesome displays that have lasted all night. Our storms generally come at night.

Dark clouds crowd the sky, wind swirls winter's detritus, changes cloud shapes to form Thor's anvil. Bird songs cease, blossoms release perfumed oils to float on warm, waiting air in eerie yellow light. Low grumbles swirl closer, sky lowers, darkens, promises rain to frogs' rasping chorus. Wind bells, rudely rattled by strengthened wind, dance to fresh music under sheltering eaves. Lightning snaps its jaws, cracks to earth in the brooding still as fat drops begin to fall.

The feeling of isolation comes after some of these storms. Roads are often cut for days where bridges are low-lying. Travellers are generally prepared for such eventualities and, in some areas good money is made by locals who pull unwary drivers out of a suddenly swollen creek. This little lake is fun for both kids and adults to paddle through.

Travelling Light.

This past month we have only been able to access the internet briefly. Our server will finally come to improve our connection this week (I hope). Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere the internet is my sanity. So I guess you could say I have been slightly insane these past weeks. Since I couldn't post any of my writings, give crits or get feed back we decided to take a short break and head north. We had planned to take this sentimental trip over ten years ago but there was alway something which stopped us. They say that it isn't wise to retrace your footsteps, revisit the past, but I am glad we did. We visited some of the places were we had lived and played almost forty years ago. I no longer regret the moves that took us south. Some of the places have developed into beautiful, functional towns, a credit to their councils, but others made me weep to see how their identities have been stolen by developers. I can not understand how they can take an unspoiled area and turn it into a place that could be any city, any where. Progress. Warm opal waters lapped white glistening sand, dark native bush ringed high tide mark, mangroves meandered along mysterious waterways; sailboats dipped in gentle swell. Running before the wind beneath a sky spread with clouds, like fleece on a skirting table, two children and gambolling Great Dane chased a red and yellow beach ball, found buried sea treasures. Today regimental rows of coconut palms march above high water mark: no dogs or camping beyond this point. Red and yellow umbrellas secure hotel patrons privileged positions along raked sand. Cruise boats and private yachts dip, lazy as sea gulls, in the cloud shadowed blue water. Private walled estates sprout where mangroves once meandered; exotic blooms replace native drabs.