Saturday 6 September 2008

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Spring Saturday

© John Sawyer – September 2008

The first Saturday of Spring has turned out a beauty.

The backyard is sunny and ever so slightly warm. At least 4 different types of birds are providing background songs while the Japanese mobile on my neighbour’s back verandah is tinkling away in the breeze.

It’s too cool for open windows so the footy commentary carries on from my neighbours TV as a dull background hum. There is the occasional shrill raising of tension from the TV, but nothing that excites my neighbour. Excitement during finals footy is almost beyond the imagination of we perpetually ninth Richmond supporters.

I can hear an occasional hammering from a few streets away. Perhaps a repair to an errant fence paling or is it yet another Tiger’s supporter taking out his frustrations on a damaged weatherboard?

The dogs sit like sleepy sphinxes guarding the tennis ball at my feet. Watching for any sign of movement. Watching for any call to action. I raise my big toe and the dogs rise ever so slightly to their haunches. I let my toe fall back down without worrying the tennis ball and the dogs fall back down to a less intense watchfulness.

I should be at the PC writing. No, tomorrow will be colder – I’ll do some writing tomorrow.

I watch the flowers being tamed into an ordered beauty after a winter of undisciplined free growth. I’m relieved that the wild daisies are allowed to continue to spread their bright poached egg message without interference. At least another week of undisciplined freedom. I refrain from comment; experience has taught that any suggestion will lead to a rebuke at best or a job at worst.

My other neighbour has a yellow and black tiger’s number plate and has no interest in watching pretenders play finals footy. He fires up the barbie and the smell of the hotplate, burning away the grease from last week’s snags drifts around the neighbourhood.

Tom’s cow bell rings in the tree above me and I think of my Dad again. The bells from Saint Ignatius join in from Richmond Hill, not tolling for the tigers; probably just the bell ringers getting up a thirst.

A beer would be nice right now. Yeah, perhaps a Guinness before winter leaves us completely.


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