I can see clearly now …..
When I awoke the crackle pop of the egg fryer waterfall outside the window had stopped. I listened to the unfamiliar creaks and clicks as our week only house expanded into a new day. It was quiet, but not silent, it was not raining. The sky was still heavy and grey and you could smell the promise of more rain, but for now none fell. I could hear the waves as they whoosh-crashed on the beach. The light leaking around the curtain’s edge was pale and weak, bounced and reflected. A small person arrives, claiming the warmth of other people’s sleep, and talks and talks and talks. Talks in circles and talks in straight lines. Talks of this and talks of that. The kettle sings. The day begins. Under still dark skies we go to find an icon. In most shops you would see images of Tasmanian Devils. Chunky animals, with a white chest stripe, and ears that flare red when they are angry, they make an ideal, but unrealistic, soft toy. When I was in Tasmania a decade ago you would see them by the side of...