The “morning person” part of my brain never lets me sleep too long – it was up and out of the house each morning of this long weekend, onto a tram or a train or a bus, and off to some other part of town while everything was still peaceful. I took photos with numerous devices, and would've walked over 25km in total.
One morning, I spotted somebody's Christmas remnants and heard Fleetwood Mac leaking out of a popular cafe before resting in a park while a pair of masked lapwings patrolled the grass near me. Another morning, a wafting smell of food grabbed me as I crossed a railway bridge, and just nearby, a friendly cat talked to me from somebody's garden. The cat had so much to tell me, in fact, that it jumped the fence into a neighbouring garden to continue meowing to me as I walked away.
The streets remained quiet, though, for which I'm grateful. My restless mind craves a chance to breathe, to listen, to explore without the stress of a crowd. Sometimes, I'm revisiting memories; Sometimes I'm thinking about conversations I need to have, and it's all part of a never-ending battle to Remain Present. Music helps, and often it's the soundscapes that really help.
I spent the weekend mostly stuck at home, through a combination of priorities – both current and impending – and the relentless heat after what we'd considered a fairly damp summer.
A public holiday today gave me something to aim for, though. I forced myself up and out into the cool, reasonably early morning air for breakfast somewhere long forgotten and a walk through some less-remembered streets.
It's lovely to be up so early that you can have some space, even in the inner suburbs. There are people, but not all the time; not so many to invade your thoughts.
Near Carlton Gardens I found a single light pole full of seemingly sociable birds – none of the other nearby ones were like this.
Reaching the core of the city I felt the heat rising, and figured it was a good time to close the loop by hopping on a tram towards home. Stopping for a coffee just near home, I couldn't quite overcome my shyness around asking the staff how to order a long black coffee in Mandarin (is it a 美式咖啡 or something else?). Next time, I swear.
I’ve been on leave for three weeks and while I’d made a list of things to get done, I was careful not to let it dominate my break. Age has brought the benefit of feeling that I don’t need to make myself so busy, that it’s ok to do nothing sometimes.
Walking remains a key part of my mental health regime. After a week stuck in a small room at home on innumerable Zoom calls, I need the peace and quite of the changing ground under my feet, and some music in my ears. I don't need to go far – my immediate surroundings change constantly, and there's always little things to notice. Late last year, a building that seemed like it would never change (having remained the same for over a decade) was suddenly emptied of the detritus out front, and demolished:
I wasn't early enough to enjoy the morning fog, but what a crisp morning! I braved a street I once lived in (some memories are harder than others), and pushed further west into some streets I rarely visit anymore, full of the usual mix of terrifying mansion-like things amongst the preserved prior world.
There are tiny hints amongst the blankness – subtle things, not the wall-high scrawls – I appreciate the little notes.
Remnants of another milk bar that succumbed to the ravages of our times, though I struggle to remember the particular nature of this one.
Really, it's just nice to be out, seeing nothing in particular.
Musical accompaniment was something new (competely unheard) and something old (but not listened to for a long time):
