Monday, January 31, 2005

Friday December 31 1971. 

101 degrees.

And we're living in a caravan. Without air conditioning. That's OK, I like hot weather.

And the heaving ocean is only a minute away.

The heat rose, shimmered on the horizon. The smell of eucalypt was heavy on the breeze.

The day swam by slowly in a daze of hot sand, burning skin and blue waves.

That night, about nine o'clock, I watched the sun, a ripe orange, drop into the Indian Ocean, wandered back to the caravan and tried to stay awake until midnight.

I failed. I woke up at about twenty past twelve. Uncle, aunt and Danny were still awake, quietly playing cards around the little kitchenette table. They were sweating and drinking tea. It was still unbearably hot. Somewhere outside, in the distance, someone was still banging pans. It's 1972.


On the radio in the caravan:

in the jungle
the mighty jungle
the lion sleeps tonight
in the jungle
the quiet jungle
the lion sleeps tonight

is it time for a nap yet? i think so

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