We snuggle next to each other on the lowered tailgate.
A row of trees along the far bank etches a silhouette across an orange sky.
Between those shadows, a furry face appears.
Then two, then three.
“You heard I was back, huh?”
I wander closer to the kangaroos.
“Yeah, I never thought I'd be back either.”
We reconnect from a distance.
My long lost friends from the cornflakes box.
I rest my shoulder against the trunk.
Roots grip deep, exposed in twisting lines of quiet endurance.
In broad daylight, this river carries traces of everything that has passed through it.
But as the sun melts into the earth, it leaves a dusky haze in its wake.
One version of Jundah merges into another.
The first, harsh and burnt.
The second, a resilient undercurrent of courage and hope.
And I sit in the space between.
???
Colour drains from the sky, like a plug pulled by an invisible hand.
Blue fingers smudge across it, a dark canvas for all that is to follow.
It’s a curtain hush before the main event.
“You thought the stars at the lake were pretty?” I muse. “Wait for the encore.”
The first twigs catch alight, a match held between my finger and thumb.
“Let me cook for you,” I say.
It’s the least I can do for the man who held me on the side of the road today.
Wrapping six large potatoes in foil, I prick them with a fork.
A light drizzle of truffle oil, a pinch of pink salt, a dash of ground pepper.
And the final touch, a generous dusting of soft white cheddar from the chiller.
Our ice has nearly melted.
I add the rest of the cheese so it doesn't go to waste.
