walkerville

whippet
walkerville, december 2004.

we came to a lookout. the end of the path. it was getting dark. this track didnt go to the beach afterall. i stood on the picnic bench and watched the sea swelling all the way out there. something moved. a branch cracking. in the bushes. and bella caught a whiff and was off. down a wombat track through the scrub. she wouldnt come. bella. and i followed. bella. it was much darker in there. in the scrub. bent over. small. a few wary steps. i slipped and slid down through the leaf litter. quiet. bella. every step i gripped hard to the closest tree. bella. she came to me. but we had come too far. no idea where we came from. where the path was. where i stood when i looked out to sea. it was getting dark. the beach was down. but a long way down. the trees grew thicker and the earth sank wet into a creek. it was dark in there. bella whimpered. she would only be carried. i saw the sand. my pants heavy with mud. i put her down and the whippet ran. my pants heavy with mud. we ran. and now sand. we ran. it was light in the dark. running on white sand.