In goes the token and in you go till the light goes red, then stop, wait. There comes the movement, the mechanical arms, the spraying, the soap and finally more spraying followed by a blow dry. The car is then assumed to be clean, and made that way after a thorough wipe over at home.
The day would start fine. The air would feel heavily humid and about our sticky sweaty bodies. And we turn on the ‘conditioner’. The laundry dries quickly enough but you have to watch the sky like a hawk. That cloud is looking heavier suddenly. Bring the clothes in before it is too late. They’ll have to do. And then it falls. It’s a natural cycle, each time the water is further purified and the rain is refreshing, and in a twisted carefree sense a blessed relief.
Where water collects it shares our journey. Where it cannot move it waits as still as a mirror for slow evaporation, to return again somewhere else, maybe next time running along the edge of a leaf. It does not matter. It holds life together. It turns the world the right way around and causes us to rest in its splendour and ponder its power.
The rush of the creek, sleek movement over randomly laid rocks, broken and smoothed by the erosive action. Pulled by gravity, the water masses together and races in free abandon headlong down, forever down, held up only in the eddying pools along the way. The sound it makes is a happy song of nature as water traps air in a variety of popping and gurgling tunes that delight the ear. All those little air bubbles burst in rapid succession as the water tumbles and catches still more. Over the next collection of rocks the water falls making more music further down, always drowned by the sound of more water coming, a cacophony of splashing and crashing in a rush to get there.
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