This afternoon, during a period of intensive 'research' on the internet, I stumbled across some Cumbrian's blog and he described a walk home through the dusk past 'herds of somnolent cows'. For whatever reason it struck a chord; evocations of a childhood that I'd either forgotten about, or maybe hadn't actually experienced but had read about once. A half-remembered black and white film seen on telly one afternoon when skiving off school.
It's late-autumn/early-winter here in postcode 2292, and even here in the southern hemisphere autumn evenings make for feelings of melancholy. The light changes, the air thickens and sounds are muffled. The flying foxes no longer swarm across the sky towards their roosts near Throsby Creek. People live less publicly. Diets change.
I like here, but I'm never quite sure why I am here, and I'm equally unsure where I'd go to if I wasn't here. It's not where I was born, not where I spent my youth or even my first 35 years. I'm here now, but I can't see myself being here in 10 years' time (which is what I say every five years: you'd think I'd learn).
I know I'm not the only one to get to here like this. Like me, you might have got to wherever you are by a similar route: forks in the road presented themselves, doors opened unexpectedly just as others slammed shut.
This is where I'll write about it.
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