Just a quick trip before
dinner, he said. Hubby wanted to take some photos as the light faded from the
day, to practise all the technical stuff he'd learnt in photography class. We
jumped into the car —well Cindy did, then she
whimpered nervously all the way, thinking she was going to the vet or the
poodle parlour or, worse still, the boarding kennel.
 |
| South Cronulla |
Walking
around the Esplanade we passed couples and families with dogs on sunset walks,
lone joggers, and others who perched on their low brick front fences
enjoying Saturday evening drinks overlooking the ocean. Tripod up, shots
snapped, tripod down, move on; and repeat, from cliff top to grassy slope to
concrete promenade.
The
clouds blushed to flossy pink and the waves caught the leftover
colour. Soon the day was little more than candlelit, the approaching
darkness making every place we stopped seem cosy, like a room at home, despite
the exposure to wind, salt spray and unfamiliar faces. An overwhelmed
feeling was building inside me, like a wave before it breaks. At first I was
puzzled, then realised I couldn't look anywhere without being swamped by
recollections—everything around me evoked a flashback, with varied
emotions attached. And all intensified by the closing dark.
Looking
up to the lit windows of a restaurant, tables set ready for the evening's
diners, I was flooded with memories of my grandmother and her 90th birthday
dinner there many years ago. Then the park that adjoined the beach had my mind
flying further back—playing with my
brother under my grandparents' watchful gaze, making a game with fallen pine
fronds and littered bottle caps. Rock hopping around the point at low tide,
swimming in the ocean pool and wearing seaweed wigs.
So
many memories crowding in, pushing to be remembered. Sunbaking on the sand as a
teen, right there. The surf club, a ride in
a rubber ducky on a summer day almost hotter than the lifeguards. Next door,
the indoor pool, our kids in swimming lessons and then Swim Club, trying
their hardest, almost twenty years ago.
Cindy
strained against her lead, nose held high to sniff the crashing waves, dragging
me back to the present. Boys were still surfing, dark shapes clutching at the
last of the day. Some looked as young as twelve and that made me scan the water
for fins—it was shark
dinner time, after all. They reminded me of my own nephew, and the little
shudder of fear I feel when I think of him paddling out through the Broadwater
at Southport.
Invisible
markers for every stage of my life surrounded me. It wasn't the cosiness of
dusk that made the beach feel like home, it was
the still-lingering spirit of days lived and people loved.
