Surfacing

The taste of pear in my mouth reminds me of a glass of wine I had a week ago. A crisp something-white that assaulted my tongue and then rose in my cheeks in a hazy flush.

The afternoon light is bright with winter weekday and I look through office glass and down onto the city moving silently below me.

At the back of my mind are the trails of a Sunday afternoon experience. Driving alone with lamb cutlets and fresh garlic on the seat beside me and Missy Higgins on acoustic filling the spaces between the sunlight and the sea; I touched at the core of my enthusiasm for life.

Clouds are gathering over Rottnest, promising rain to wake you in the middle of the night and send you back to sleep in to a groggy sense of comfort.

I breathe as I stand and look out to sea, consciously pulling the air into me and pushing it out. I feel my belly move against my shirt and I feel my head filling with exciting possibilities.