Home » Archive » Nightsurf 1987 » Page 7
They glided below constellations, above light emitted billions of years ago. Only wave Christy caught was small. Yet its smooth undulating surface unravelled beneath her. As captivating as first time on a board. Familiar caresses from living currents, forces, and water. Embraced by darkness yet passing through random shore beacons.
She tilted her head back and breathed out, released so much pressure. Overhead a cauliflower head of a moon. Responsible for lunar forces reeling her in, she desired to dissolve, into space, formless, weightless. Back to a time driving Henry up an empty costal highway. Ahead a vista of low scrub, salt bush, struggling gum trees fighting sea air, poor soil and winter coastal squalls. Henry having to find a power to pass beekeepers' trucks loaded with hives, filled colonies, stoppered until apiarist found their usual tracks. Hives left behind circled like wagon trains ready for parrot bush, banksias, and melaleucas to burst forth nectar. Scenes associated with going north, she, Emma, and Henry. Less simple times faced them right now.
Up on sand, now crossed by clean wind ridges, Emma grabbed Christy’s free hand. “Listen mate, you know our family shack up at Moore River is going to be empty for ages.”
“How come?”
“Mum’s heading off on a long-delayed pilgrimage around Europe.”
“Yeah, spending your inheritance.”
“Bitch, keeping nothing for me.”
Christy felt tears gather recalling those dusty verandas, curtains of geometric bamboo branches, dotted with fly specks. Sea grass flooring always squeaking as the girls tried to sneak out for a pre-breakfast surf.
“Well, why don’t we take up residence while this baby thing happens?”
