Sunday, March 06, 2005

Saturday January 15 1972. 

Out of Norseman and back into the Nullarbor proper to crawl slowly - like a fly across a suburb and just as insignificant - along the backbone of this huge continent.

It had seemed to take days of swimming in the clean water of the Indian Ocean to get the dust out of my system once we had reached Perth weeks ago. On the way over, we were breathing it and it was inside our clothes. When I undressed in the camp ground showers, dust dropped to the floor.

Now the dreaded dust is swirling around us again, fine enough to permeate the car just as if it were a convertible. We may as well just roll the windows down. Sometimes we have to because of the heat.

The return journey always seems faster than the outward journey. The towns we had encountered just weeks ago approached and receded just as quickly. Caiguna. Eucla (the nymph). And Madura (the big spider).

It's only mid-Januray and my cousin is starting to talk about going back to school.

I refused to even think about school.


On the car radio:

I rode my bicycle past your window last night
I roller-skated to your door at daylight

is it time for a nap yet? i think so

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