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25.

A place to go and hide.

A place with a window

And doors to open

And close.

A place with a table

And your grandmother's chairs.

A place to eat

A place to clean

A place to enter

A place to leave

A place to call home.

25. An un ideal way to spend time.

23.

Blue sky

Palm trees

Spaced

Between

Grey.

20. 0. 0

20. There were a lot of people out tonight. They seemed happy.

19. Trying to see

Past

Haze

Brown eyes

Wondering down

Feet

Pain

Do blisters burst?

Half eye open

Say hello

Hi

Going down

Bye

Turning

Right

Not left

Why

Oh well.

Tram

Too many

People

Standing close

Unaware

Perhaps it's been awhile

A long little while.

Bandaids and

Hair

It's been awhile.

Up

and

Up.

And wait.

It's taking awhile.

Down

And further

Down.

Remember.

Stop.

Click.

There.

Burning feet

Tired eyes

Bruised legs

Just for a

Little while

More.

19. Blistered legs, bruised legs, sty.

15. My pansies are dying.

11. Blue couch

Leaning

Seated at

Isabel's table.

White walls

Sty

Trams.

and

new blisters

Borris

Shadows

In

Empty corners.

10. The truth was much couldn't be decided in a week.

10. While we stood still and waited, a dull monotonous ache began to weave its way through. A cry. Then a scream. How the crowd did turn.

4. Blood blister.

2. Looking forward. Looking back. It's strange the beginning of things.

2. Tired eyes.

14. The workers are here more. They arrive earlier too. Perhaps it's because the weather's nicer. Perhaps it's because we're nearing some semblance of normality again.

5.9. 0

31. A home where people once lived. It's empty now.

30. A maze of white , blue and purple meet at the river's edge, 1960's homes overlook passerby's. Crushed leaves, meandering vines. Warped fences that seep deeper and deeper into the layered undergrowth. Spiders hidden amongst leaves, noticed only when light touches silk. A hole. A road. Echoes of frogs I cannot see. A path. A child's bike discarded. A mountain that lies somewhere in the distance. It feels so close.

25. 14. 8

19. The park was busy today. I had wanted to sit by the lake to watch the ducks swim past. It was Sunday and warm though and playgrounds were open again. Past the cries of coltish play, I walked on. Baby Direct. Christmas Kingdom. It's strange for a shop to be dedicated to a holiday. There's a lot of empty shopfronts now. Officeworks. What can I buy from Officeworks. I walk towards the train station. I'm not sure why. Rushing down stairs. Gasping for air searching for a seat. This seems like a distant memory. Eastland looms large. Big bright and removed from its suburban bubble. I might walk back now.

18. Stomach ache

bug

crawls

across

skin.

Tickling

sun starved bruised

legs

3. All the things we couldn't say

31. 73. 41

20. It's strange the order of things. How a scene can change upon leaving then arriving back again. Walking to the post office has become somewhat of a daily ritual. A task to tick off? I'm not sure. Upon leaving the oval adjacent to home the highway's usual drone has been quiet of late. The time to cross is minute, the man in red appearing just halfway. The next impediment is the railway crossing, which appears shortly thereafter. Everything seems empty here. The carpark, usually brimming with its usual suspects of early bird commuters, is now starved of its daily dose of diesel and petrol fumes. A letter and bottle of brush cleaner. There's not much to collect today. Walking back towards the intersection of lights the scene has changed, the cars slowed down. There's been an accident. Two blue cars. One has a smashed bonnet. The other has burst a water pipe. Given the earlier quiet, it's an unsettling scene to come back to. Cars pass by, people watch on. I walk home.

19. It's raining.

17. 282. 25

12. There's a sty in my right eyelid. I get them often, mostly because I don't get enough sleep. I painted a door frame today. Not an actual door frame, but one of three that sits inside a 20 x 15cm painting. I'm pretty sure the lines aren't straight. I wonder if that really matters at the moment. Unfortunately it still does. Perhaps this is the genesis of my sty.

10. 322. 19.

10. There are voices outside. Distant but loud voices. It's just gone 12 so I wonder why this is. The dull ache of a motor in wait continues. The sound of a car door slam rings through the night sky as a pebble echoes touching stone. The slow monotonous purr of a fridge springing back to life brings me back. A gentle reminder it's time to go to bed.

5. 725 cases today. 314 more than yesterday. 15 deaths.

2. I spoke to my grandma yesterday. She'll be 100 come December 27. I wonder when I'll see her next. The last time we visited was via a window the staff had set up for family members. We spoke of Covid, Daniel Andrews and Audio Books, her latest passion given her deteriorating eyesight. It was cold that day. By the end of the hour I couldn't feel my feet. A small price.

2.671 cases today. 317 more than yesterday. 7 deaths.

1. And just like that it was August.

The sky is blue today. An intense straight out of the tube cerulean blue. I'd forgotten what it felt to have sun press through fabric. For the back of my neck to feel warmth. It's been a grey winter. The leaves rustle behind. The wind has picked up: my ankles exposed propose a change of scenery soon. The house is cold however. Remaining outside, the seats from Alverstone offer some comfort to a discomforting year. I see a spider journey from the table to a nearby wheel-burrow, its silken strand waving perpendicular to the afternoon breeze. I've lost the spider now, having spent too long thinking of another word for up and down. My hands are cold again. I recall a conversation I had recently with my chiropractor. He didn't seem concerned about this. The sun has shifted now, leaving the chairs, table, wheel-burrow and myself in shadow. It's nice to see blue again.

29. 295 cases today. 89 less than yesterday. 9 deaths.

29. A place to call home

Outside

Where birds dance

and

flick

between leaves.

24. 300 cases today. 103 down from yesterday. 6 deaths.

23. Roof ablaze

lead white

dancing

on windows

and Ernie's leaves.

Mountains set back

cobalt blue

ice

cold

days

torn

paint from

a view from a window.

20. The construction workers began early today. The drill egged on by 'doof doof' sounds and other vocal machinations. Earlier on it was the Vengaboys. There's rain falling now. My hands are cold, I realise as the vocalist sings 'Put your hands up.' I wonder where the blue from this morning went. A planning councillor had come by to inspect the trees in the backyard. I suppose for when work begins here too. Soon to be another weatherboard gone. Replaced by another three story townhouse or apartment block. The previous tenants wrote 'Imagine', 'Create' and 'Love' on the outside of the shed. They also left a number of large glass bottles and made a stand alone chicken enclosure in the backyard. This I don't think they were allowed to do. We also can't take it down, which is strange considering the rest of the property soon will be.

29. Last night I dreamt I was being followed by a ghost. I was living in a place similar to where I am now, but with less access to public transport. For some reason ghosts kept appearing in my photographs. Others could see them too, but they were only following me. I'm not sure why. I didn't sleep after that.

23. 'When you're laughing, really laughing from the deep of your belly, you can't be afraid.' Nareen Masud

23. Television screens and hand held devices. Feeds. Streams. And cyclical media machines. Ice cold fingers.

23. 403 cases today. 81 down from yesterday. 5 deaths.

22. Doors that open

And doors that close.

Doors that welcome

And doors

that trap.

Doors that look

And doors that check.

Doors with knobs

And doors with

eyes.

Doors that open