Doris lay in the dark. Something had jolted her from slumber. Its source, elusive in that waking haze. The pungent smell of booze was strong enough to induce drunkenness. There again, the squeaky hinge she’d asked Artie to oil.
A bolt of electricity radiated outwards to the tip of each tiny hair standing on end. Carter was asleep down there! She prodded Artie but the oaf might as well be dead. She bounded downstairs grabbing the kitchen broom en route.
Pushing through the door she was greeted by Carter half outside, her ass up, legs dangling from the ceiling-level window.
I’d arranged some free time to take a quiet hike along the Grand River. It was a beautiful day, overcast but bursting with shades of fall in the crisp afternoon air. I stepped from the trail to examine a fallen tree, gnarled and weathered shades of sun-bleached gray concealing a punch of colour nestled within. Red, orange and yellow waves of an inner light radiating outwards across a monochromatic backdrop. I ponder the moments when each broke free from captivity, falling on the autumn wind before congregating in this nook. A series of seemingly random acts so divinely orchestrated.
Trapped inside this pressurized pod, small and insignificant against an endless regolith ocean.
There was a time in history when the unsavory were banished. Prisoners to an island, yet free to start again.
There are two states of existence on the ‘dark’ side. The ghostly gray of day and the almost black on black of night. This is my Australia. No new beginnings, only reflections on the coming end. Still, every rotation I sip on weak replicated tea watching the light creep across an unchanging moonscape until it falls off a distant horizon and I drift into darkness again.
Dale watched her grandfather rebuilding the lawnmower. Moments earlier the machine groaned as the blades crashed against the garden’s rocky edge.
“Pass the wrench.” Grandpa hollered.
Dale grabbed the tool from the kit running her hands along the time-weathered edges. She was certain her grandfather had taken this instrument into battle on many occasions.
The worn surfaces fit her grandfather’s hand perfectly. He wielded it with precision, as though it were an extension of his arm. Any hope the chores were done dashed as she supervised her Grandpa’s work. She knew the machine would be running in no time.