Neon-orange cotton wool ball clouds.
Tomatoes in planter boxes nailed to telegraph poles along the laneway.
A silver-haired man walks in front of me, his metallic transistor radio broadcasting to the both of us.
It is the I don’t-know-how-many-eth day over thirty degrees and lemon gums ooze their astringent scent into the near-night sky.
Across the road in the high-rise, a woman obscured nose-up by the regulatory venetian blinds watches the sunset. From my balcony–a white china bowl, a fork, and her hand slowly eating.
Carlton, Melbourne, 6th March 2013
genii loci 