Tuesday, January 25, 2011

The Egg

Beyond the water eroded exterior lay another land, another world; a new beginning and as the yellow centre of the universe diminished the translucent white of the albumen disappeared.

For Doni time was running out. As rapid growth cramped his space, his source of nourishment became more precarious by the hour. Doni wondered if he should give serious consideration to moving his head quarters somewhere more spacious.

From the edge of his nose a spur was growing. Imaging a crowbar in every shape and form, Doni knew instinctively this new development symbolised his future. No one had informed him the correct usage of the ugly protrusion that appeared overnight. Living a short life in a tiny universe, which was the only home he knew, had been a period of dramatic development. A humble black dot that was his beginning changed hourly, daily, until he was barely recognisable from that simple single cell.

Frustration teemed with an acute feeling of claustrophobia filled Doni's mind and body. He was trapped. He had to escape before this universe crushed him into oblivion. Banging on walls achieved exactly nothing. Crying was not in his repertoire. Hunger drove him on as an overwhelming urge to leave this place pounded in his mind.

Lying on his back Doni lurched his head upwards ... outwards. The rocky exterior, worn smooth by aeons of ocean flow of the ebbing and surging tide, started to crack. With energy hitherto unknown, Doni directed a massive onslaught at the wall. He pulled the spur back. He lunged it outward. Over and over he repeated the dance.

Music reverberated through his head. One, two, three, lunge; one, two, three, strike; one, two, three rest; one two three lunge... A jagged crack opened up. Doni, his strength charged with ambition, powered all his effort into this, the Escape for Life. Lunge, strike, rest. Lunge, strike, rest.

A trickle of salt water dribbled into the universe that had been Doni’s home for a lifetime. White foam curled around his feet. Doni stretched out ... his legs broke free... the case split open leaving him exposed to another world.
Beyond lay the pounding surf. All around the warmth of the golden sand drifted its welcome; crabs and sand hoppers hurried to investigate. Doni had arrived in another world. There was no hard shell to protect him, no yellow inner glow to nourish him; instead he had Freedom.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

My Time in Cue ~ Ends

Horses sweat, plants transpire, and people perspire. Those words of wisdom were reiterated by the adults of my childhood … parents and teachers intent on instilling the correct usage of the English language into my young brain. My gray matter absorbed the information enabling me to correctly answer a Biology question at exam time. One rebellious corner of my mind allows me to still blithely comment, "I am sweating!"

Today that phrase is apt. Minute droplets of perspiration cling to my arms. Had I looked at them under a microscope I may think I am looking at rain clinging to a recently cleaned window. The droplets converge as new-born streams joining with other streams to trickle down to become a river that plunges, as a waterfall, down my forehead, spreading across the platform of my face, narrowing its passage over my chin, and before I have time to grab tissues, or a towel, it wends its way into the gorge beneath my shirt. Wiping up the perspiration is futile. As quickly as I mop, another rivulet forms.

Without warning a wind whistles from nowhere swirling mini dust storms before subsiding as quickly as it began. The air is cooler; an eerie calmness prevails.

The sky, which earlier in the day was wall-to-wall, or rather horizon-to-horizon blue carpet now sports a covering of white fluffy mats … sheepskins in the sky. Beyond the caravan park, its ablution block once upon a time the local jail, red dust rises to blur the image of sky, only to race towards the main highway north like a mist rolling in from the ocean. It sweeps down the highway driven by a lone gust of wind that rattles the loose sheet of roofing iron outside my balcony door. Again the wind raises its voice … shaking trees, the flags flying from their respective poles dancing the tango with vigour, as yet another cloud of dust swirls, white this time from the abandoned gold diggings on the outskirts of town.

Cars creep cautiously along the ribbon of highway, their lights on dim to make their presence known to other motorists.

As waves crash on distant shores rhythmically under the baton of a hidden conductor, so the wind rises and falls, its chorus repetitious, its verses as yet undefined. An empty Coke can rattles and rolls its lonely way along the street. The crows that spent half the morning perched on a high vantage point waiting for a suitable moment to swoop and raid the dogs' dishes, cluster in small groups in the shelter of the band rotunda …their flying time under suspension for the afternoon.

Later … hours later … the setting sun illuminates the edges of the cloud that have diminished leaving a larger carpet of blue tinged with gold as the sun sinks to the west. In the distance a veil of rain drifts downwards, but it appears to evaporate before reaching ground level, while north behind the location of the mini dust storm, a rainbow adds a glorious splash of colour. Once again the rain has snubbed us … maybe during the cool night hours it will come calling as a welcome guest.

But hark! Darkness cocoons the town in a blanket until a display of forked lightning pierces the now black ceiling lighting the sky like a New Year's fireworks celebration. Thunder rumbles breaking the silence. Slowly the trees bend to a gentle breeze that increases before easing completely. Rain falls its drop echoing on the tin roof. Five minutes later the rain is over.


My Time is Cue is over.

Monday, January 10, 2011

My Time in Cue ~ Part 33

Summer Heat

It's hot! The thermometer on the outside of my balcony door read 43 degrees in mid-afternoon. Now, a couple of hours later, it has dropped … by 2 degrees.

In contrast to this time last year I feel it is at least seven degrees warmer, though this does not necessarily qualify as being caused by global warming. By all accounts these early hot temperatures point towards a cyclone season, and indeed over east, off the north-eastern coast cyclone Guba is building in force. It will not affect us here in the west.

It wasn't until recent years we heard about the El Nino and La Nina effect, but it is these opposing weather symptoms that create our varying weather patterns. The come and go.

Our air-conditioning unit in the kitchen is awaiting a piece of copper pipe … it arrived in the post this morning, but our handy men have gone north … for the day. Our air conditioning is on hold. In the meantime our evening cook is hot and bothered, and with just cause. With any luck it will be in full working order tomorrow!

I sat outside drying my hair and watched the fluffy white clouds moving around the sky like a dancer waltzing around the dance floor for the final dance. The slithered around the blue yonder, some turned gray and on the far outskirts of town I could see the rain falling. If this were a city that rain would still be in the far outskirts.

In my room the air con is rattling as it circulates cool air. It is pleasant and it is where I cheerfully spend my spare time. The balcony loses it attraction after quarter of an hour.

Earlier I headed to the bathroom to shower and wash my hair. The tile floor was warm to walk on and there was no need to run hot water as the cold tap ran warm. This phenomenon occurred last year … after Christmas. This year is definitely hotter, and while I am aware cyclones cause damage to homes and the environment, I secretly hope that one will affect us … we are far enough inland not to be bothered by the extremes. I have been informed should a cyclone hit the coastal area we can expect rain and lots of it. The highways are, infrequently, rendered impassable as surface water drains away slowly. Perhaps the lake will fill? Perhaps the fish that live in the lake mud, awaiting water in which to swim, will hatch and we will see fishing as a pastime. Perhaps … perhaps.

It all depends on Mother Nature, and she is unpredictable. We cannot foretell exactly which way she will turn. It is but a waiting game.