Fleeting Moments,
It is a summer afternoon in Queensland. In the sunshine state you can feel the tongue of every ray licking at your skin. There is a sheath of sweat covering my body. I look out over the veranda of our old Queenslander and the view has morphed. It is like someone has poured a bucket of oil over a landscape painting. My friends are melting into the outdoor furniture like Dali’s clocks. The sun is just beginning to set. Technicolor peach. It is beginning to shower lightly so we all climb over the veranda and onto the rooftop. Steam is rising from the corrugated iron. We are fully clothed, but our inhibitions are nude. Our skin drinks in the raindrops. We look heavenward and for a moment we have the innocence of children; a purity that only rain drops and tears provoke. I think to myself, ‘let me keep this one…’