We are fending off salt and wind from all angles. We have learnt the squint, the thin-lipped voice of blowflies trying to drink from our lips, the Aussie salute. We love the coast as it eats us, we retreat to the inland coasts of deserts. The sleepy long country basks like a skink on the rock of the earth. The wind hits the curve of my ears like its race and departure from empty shells.
Beaches echo in the chamber of gristle and are finally released after seconds.
For a moment, I heard everything that the wind had picked up from lengths of country, before the country resumed, and the beach settled into its routine movements. Here in Darwin it may never grow any more crowded. Although they often do not know what direction to take, so that the bitch digs just like that, nothing else, and I write this. I am overwhelmed by this day. Soon my dog companions and I will be gone, like brilliant skyscapes that are never the same.