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[don't kid yourself]
[talk to me]




    > 2002





<!-- May 12, 2003 -->

My view of Bondi is through one squinting eye; my other closed lazily against the sun.

My forearm swims into focus, the hairs alternately rising with the cool ocean breeze and falling as it bakes, stilll prickling as a wave of relaxation moves through me, down my spine.

The sun reflects off the browning surface of my skin an dlights up the stray hairs that blow before my eye, dancing in that breeze.

Beyond, my lookout is divided three ways. My horizon from where I lay is a white iron fence, ringing the pale sand of the beach. The top layer is the bright green of the grassy bank leading down to the beach, speckled with locals and travelers who've not brought their bathing suits, lounging about, sleeping or watching the waves.

The sand below the rail is more densely populated with hard-core sun-bathers, desperate backpackers and the ever present surfers, awaiting the next set of fine waves or just taking a quick rest.

Beyond them, of course, is the curve of the water. The waves crest, crash and foam right up to the shore. A constant rumble and splashy whisper, blended together. Tumbling over themselves endlessly.

Over it all hangs the cityline and sky.

Looking down, over my right elbow, where the land reaches toward the water, the sky is the lightest blue, with low fluffy clouds off in the distance. Looking straight ahead and right, up above me, the sky turns a deeper blue and layers of featherlite clouds wisp around.

Prickle and gleam. Warmth and chill.

I consider moving on to Bronte Beach as I had intended today. I'll wait until the prickle refuses to come down.

My eyelid comes lazily down again. This is my favourite view of Bondi.

my journal

that every day isn't this beautiful

A banana smoothy

In a Sunburned Country