Tag Archives: summer

Writing prompt #32: Summertime

Another day, another writing challenge beckons. This one comes from Uli at Confessions of A Broccoli Addict: https://wordpress.com/read/blog/id/28417405/

Writing Prompt: Write a story or poem that includes the following words:

  • summer,
  • ice cream,
  • bicycle,
  • dog,
  • waffle iron.

So pop on your favorite version of “Summertime” (mine’s by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong) or another summer song, and get writing. Post your story/poem or link in the comments by June 22 to be included in the round up.

I’ll add my response in the comments and include it in the round up as well.

Riding my bicycle in my bikini,

liquid ice cream dreams

melt away.

Devoured

by the flapping tongue

of a thirsty dog

they disappear.

Evaporate.

It’s like they’ve never even been.

Oblivious to my ice cream woes,

the boy with the waffle iron

Find s love

In another’s arms.

Sometimes,

summer can be so cruel.

XX Rowena

PS It was tough trying to fit waffle iron into a poem!

Palm Beach Perspectives, Sydney, Australia.

Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.

-Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor (161-180 CE)

Known as Summer Bay to lovers of the TV Drama series Home & Away and “Palmy” to those in the know, generation after generation have made the long drive up to Palm Beach often returning with sand-encrusted butts, sunburn and shocking tempers in a stinking hot car full of flies. Of course, that’s turning the clock back to the inimitable 70s when going to Palm Beach for us, meant piling into the family’s beloved HG Holden which had painfully hot upholstery and no air-conditioning. Ouch!

Palm Beach is located 41 kilometres North of Sydney’s CBD. However, I can assure you that if you’re catching the legendary L90 bus, welcome to eternity. Indeed, the journey takes around 2 hours. If you were traveling in Europe, you could well have traversed a few countries in that time. Moreover, bus is the only form of public transport. At least historically speaking, trains have been resisted.

On the other hand, if you are coming from the Central Coast, Palm Beach is only a stone’s throw away. You can catch the Palm Beach Ferry from either Ettalong or Wagstaff, which is an absolutely stunning 30 minute trip. When that gorgeous Australian sun is illuminating the ocean like a magical diamond carpet and the wind isn’t too strong, you’re in absolute paradise. On the other hand, when there’s heavy rain, strong winds, the ferry is heaving up and down through what feels like treacherous surf and you’re about to throw up; you feel like you deserve a bravery award once you reach the other side. Yes, at times like that, you even wonder if you’re about to become a modern version of the Swiss Family Robinson or remake Gilligan’s Island. Melodrama aside, the crew are very adept and the ferry is cancelled during particularly rough weather.

Palm Beach is an absolute kaleidoscope of perspectives, like any place, once you scratch beneath the surface. Obviously, creating that sort of mosaic, isn’t possible here so I’ll stick to the bigger picture, providing more of a broad-sweeping overview which a few “local” insights.

Geographically-speaking, Palm Beach has two quite opposite perspectives: the surf beach and Pittwater. The beach equals waves and swimming while Pittwater is “flat” and better suited for sailing, kayaking and other water sports.

Palm Beach- surf side

Palm Beach- surf side

Starting off with the surf beach, the first thing you’ll probably notice is that the sand is deep gold in colour. The next thing, is the surf. At the Southern end, the waves are relatively gentle and you have “kiddies’ corner”  where families with young kids hang out. There’s also an ocean pool where you can swim laps. The beach then stretches around towards the Northern end with it’s famous surfing breaks and culminates with the Palm Beach Lighthouse, which lies perched on top of the headland like a crown. If you are fit and energetic, you can walk up to the Lighthouse. I haven’t been up there for years and I’ve heard the path has improved but it used to be more of a climb than a walk.

The majority of swimmers are clustered “in between the flags”. The red and yellow flags mark where it’s safest to swim and is patrolled by the Surf Lifesavers. So, if you find yourself getting into difficulty, you can easily be spotted and rescued. I can assure you that as a teenager, my friends and I did consider needing a bit of CPR but never actually implemented these plans. We were all “talk”. That is, except when it came to talking to the lifesavers. These Adonises were in a league all of their own.

In a scene reminiscent of hundreds and thousands sprinkled on top of bread and butter (fairy bread),the crowds pour into Palmy from Christmas through to the Australia Day weekend at the end of January, which signals the return to school and the end of the precious Summer holidays. Then, the masses jostle for a precious rectangle of sand to park their towel on the hot,hot sand under the scorchingly hot Australian sun.

Although people living overseas have asked me about the hole in the ozone over Australia, it doesn’t look like all the sunbakers roasting themselves into early-onset melanoma have heard anything about it. When we were young, we used to to cover ourselves in baby oil or get sprayed on the beach by coconut oil, which was the height of sophistication back in the 70s and 80s. There was no such thing as a “fake tan” back then. Just sunburn, peeling skin, freckles and the odd genetic mutant who could actually pull off a tan.

Many years ago now, I used to hang out on the beach where designer sunnies were de rigeur and it certainly wasn’t the sort of place you’d turn up with hairy legs and arm pits which could fuel a forest fire. You didn’t just practice “the strut” at Palmy either. You had to have that down pat beforehand so Palm Beach could be your catwalk. Even better, if you also had the fingernails to eliminate your competition!

Geoff arriving home from a sail.

Geoff arriving home from a sail.

While the beachfront is renowned for flashing incredible wealth in a subtle, understated way and very much being “a scene”, the Pittwater side of Palm Beach is like it’s alter ego and incredibly down to earth  Understandably, there generally isn’t that fashion element you get over at the surf beach. Getting covered in sand and mud, we save our good clothes for back home or dining out and only wear our glad rags out there. It’s water shoes, wet suits, swimmers, grungy t-shirts and thick smears of sunscreen and broad-brimmed hats.

Although my tour of Palm Beach is rapidly drawing to a close, there are still two places I’d like you to visit.

Here I am enjoying a deep-fried prawn from the Fisherman's Basket.

Here I am enjoying a deep-fried prawn from the Fisherman’s Basket.

Firstly, there’s the infamous Palm Beach fish and chips shop, which has gone by various names over the years. It’s located on the Pittwater side, just across from the ferry wharf. People come from all around Sydney and the Central Coast to feast on these fish and chips, which surely must be among Sydney’s best?!! You can either eat-in or take them across the road and eat them in the park while checking out the sailing.

Secondly, there’s Alf’s Bait Shop in “Summer Bay”. Personally, there’s such an incredible cringe factor and like Neighbours, Home & Away is best exported but the show has been a fabulous ambassador and no doubt sold Australia to thousands of tourists. Palm Beach really does look incredible. That said, they usually present a glamorized, postcard perspective. After all, it does rain in Palm Beach and it isn’t always sun and blue skies!

However, while so far I’ve given you what pretty much reads as the glamour tour of Palm Beach, I can’t help feeling that Palm Beach is a little over-rated, especially given the cost of real estate. Even though it is part of Sydney, Palm Beach is actually very isolated and lacks most of what I would class “essential services”. There are no proper supermarkets and you have a ten minute drive into Avalon, which can extend to 20 in traffic. It is impossible to find a parking spot, which has meant that we’ve gone down for fish and chips and have driven off. I don’t want to knock down paradise and put up a parking lot. However, you do need to eat and get out of the house. That is also made difficult by the very narrow, twisting roads which lack adequate footpaths/ Indeed, in spots being a pedestrian is almost asking to get run over. As I was walking back from the bus stop the other day, I really felt like I needed to breathe in to distance myself from passing traffic.

Consequently, you can feel a little trapped and claustrophobic on the “insular peninsula”…especially when we have stunning beaches back home which are close to the shops, train and bus at such a fraction of the cost of real estate here.

Actually, thinking about Palm Beach’s location, it’s almost like someone was playing pin-the-tail on the donkey and stuck the pin almost off the side of the map. Even though it’s located in Sydney and not in the outback, it does feel strangely isolated both from services and people. So many of the houses are empty.

I am a bit down on Palm Beach at the moment because my Dad has sold the house here and we’re moving on, which is a serious wrench.

So rather than writing home about all the things I love about the place, I am also trying to remind myself of all the other equally beautiful places elsewhere and think about the flip side of the travel experience. For the last few years, we’ve immersed ourselves here but perhaps now it’s time to explore further afield and explore with a broader brush. When it comes to the Pittwater side of Palm Beach,it feels like we’ve explored each and every single hair on its head…especially when I’ve photographed it in such incredibly, minute detail and it feels like I know each single hair on its head, even though we’re still finding new critters.

So, soon I will be seeing our time in Palm Beach from another perspective…the past. I don’t need to leave it behind completely. After all, it’s only a short 30 minute ferry ride away but we planted roots here even if they’re uprooted and not severed completely, it still hurts and I feel a bit lost and disorientated. That said, once school goes back next week and we’re back to the grind at home, it will be a different story.

We’ll be home.

This has been P for Palm Beach Perspectives for the Blogging from A-Z April Challenge. How are you going with the challenge? Thank goodness, it is Sunday tomorrow and we have a break!

xx Rowena

Richie Benaud…Oh What a Ripper!

Yesterday, Australia lost a very much loved, living legend, when cricketer and commentator, Richie Benaud, passed away aged 85. Richie Benaud was the “voice of cricket” and as Prime Minister, Tony Abbott said:Richie Benaud “was the accompaniment of an Australian summer, his voice was even more present than the chirping of the cicadas in our suburbs and towns, and that voice, tragically, is now still.”

There’s a fabulous cartoon by Shakespeare here:http://www.smh.com.au/sport/the-fitz-files/a-marvellous-man-and-a-true-gent-rip-richie-benaud-20150410-1mi854.html

Even though I’m not even close to being a cricket fan, Richie Benaud’s appeal went way beyond the pitch. Indeed, after commentating for so many years, he felt like something of an aged Uncle or Grandparent who chatted to us throughout the game, telling us what’s what. Like so many embarrassing dads, he had his own unique sense of style and a way with words that was legendary. Indeed, when you checked out the crowd at a cricket match, you’d find more than a couple of look-a-likes in the crowd. Golly, some of the interpretations of his hair, were almost as incredible as the man himself.

To see his loyal fans decked up in force: http://www.smh.com.au/sport/cricket/benaud-boys-pay-tribute-to-the-international-man-of-cricket-20120104-1pkog.html

A crowd full of Richie Benauds think the play is "marvellous"!!

A crowd full of Richie Benauds think the play is “marvellous”!!

Anyway, as I said, I won’t and can’t even pretend to be a cricket fan.

Indeed, I hated cricket growing up. Every Summer, my brother and I conducted our own fierce battles off the pitch as we fought for who controlled the TV.  I swear my brother could have spent an entire summer watching and playing cricket, which as I’ve found re-reading an old journal, drove me absolutely round the twist.

Back in the day before remote controls, that meant grabbing hold of the rotary channel  selector in one hand and the on and off switch in the other and somehow fighting off your opponent with any remaining body parts without letting go. It’s funny because even though a vehemently detested cricket at the time, that still remains the Golden Age of cricket for me and I now sing along with “Come On Aussie, Come On” choking back the emotions as I remember Dennis Lillee “pounding down like a machine”: www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qJLi5y2d2w

That said, I chuckled when I heard Richie Benaud talking about the upcoming Summer:”We won’t miss a ball of the cricket”. Thinking back to my brother, I now realise that things could have been an awful lot worse and I hope Benaud’s wife, Daphne, enjoyed being married to the game as well as to the man. She pretty much had to love cricket.

Richie, Richie and Daphne

Richie, Richie and Daphne

All I’ll say, is thank goodness for the Internet and two TVs. Geoff a serious cricket fan as well.

So, as a fleeting tribute to an incredible man who I’ve felt has been living in my lounge room for so much of my life, here are a few of Richie Benaud’s Classic Quotes:

BenaudEarly“The key thing was to learn the value of economy with words and to never insult the viewer by telling them what they can already see” – on commentary.

“And Glenn McGrath dismissed for two, just 98 runs short of his century” – on the Australian fast bowler, famous for his ineptitude with the bat. Just as well he could bowl!!

“Put your brain into gear and if you can add to what’s on the screen then do it, otherwise shut up”

“What I want most from being a television commentator is to be able to feel that, when I say something, I am talking to friends”: talking about his audience.

“There was a slight interruption there for athletics” – referring to a streaker.

“When my hair is long enough to be cut, I go to my wife’s hairdresser, and she generally ways for it.”

“I once said to (Australian all-rounder) Keith Miller how disappointed I was to have made my debut in the same year as Bradman retired. How wonderful it would have been to have watched him play at the SCG in 1940 and then to bowl at him on the same ground. Nugget remarked drily that everyone has one lucky break and that may well have been mine.”

Benaud said of his mother, “She improved my love of vegetables by introducing the phrase, ‘You can’t go out and play cricket until you have eaten all your vegetables.'”

Before I sign off in typical Richie Benaud style, I’ll play Anthony Lloyd-Webber’s Memory which was Richie & Daphne’s favourite piece of music, performed by Debra Byrne:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-osxc7JKXg

Condolences to Benaud family, especially his beloved wife, Daphne. From all accounts, they had an incredible partnership!

I will give Richie Benaud the last word:

“This had been a presentation from Nine’s Wide World of Sports.”

xx Rowena

RIP Richie Benaud.

RIP Richie Benaud. This was the old test pattern, which used to broadcast in the good old days when the TV went to sleep.

 

Portraits of A Bald Dog.

Free at last: Bilbo relieved after losing his bulky fur coat.

Free at last: Bilbo relieved after losing his bulky fur coat.

Just wanted to share Bilbo’s new look. It’s not exactly pretty or indeed handsome but it’s definitely more functional. That said, losing the fluffy coat has exposed each and every little bulge and what Miss unkindly refers to as his “blubber”.

After having such a fluffy dog, I am intrigued by the new geometric patterns in his new coat.

After having such a fluffy dog, I am intrigued by the new geometric patterns in his new coat.

 

Lady and Bilbo posing for the paparazzi

Lady and Bilbo posing for the paparazzi

Miss and Lady along the waterfront.

Miss and Lady along the waterfront.

Click Go the Shears, Dog!

“Click goes his shears; click, click, click.

Wide are the blows, and his hand is moving quick,

The ringer looks round, for he lost it by a blow,

And he curses that old shearer with the bare belled ewe.”

Click Go the Shears:  The tune is an adaptation of the American Civil War song “Ring the Bell, Watchman” by Henry Clay Work and the first verse follows closely, in parody, Work’s lyrics as well.

Tom Roberts: "Shearing the Rams" 1890.

Tom Roberts: “Shearing the Rams” 1890. Bilbo is almost as woolly as a sheep.

Bilbo, our very woolly, mature-aged Border Collie,  is about to get shorn like a sheep and it’s going to be a real test of endurance not just for the dog groomer but also for Geoff who will be standing in the dog float with him. Bilbo became quite disturbed when I unceremoniously bathed him a few weeks ago with the garden hose out in the back. We’re Australian and both humans and dogs are tough and it’s not often that they receive the royal salon treatment. However, when it comes to the hose and the vacuum cleaner, Bilbo is a pussy cat. Actually, he’s more of a chicken!

Instead of going to the dog salon, the salon is coming to us.

Instead of going to the dog salon, the salon is coming to us.

That’s right. All his glamorous fur is coming off. Not so long ago, Bilbo’s beautiful black & white fluffy coat would have been the envy of many a Hollywood starlet. That was until he stood out in the rain once too often while his winter coat was shedding and it fused into a wadded clump. Brushing, brushing and more brushing and even strategic snips, did little to improve the situation…especially as he was staging a stubbornly  determined campaign of full-scale avoidance, fleeing whenever  we approached his rump with the brush. It reminded me of the classic children’s book: Harry the Dirty Dog written by Gene Zion and illustrated by Margaret Bloy Graham. Harry dug a hole and buried his scrubbing brush and ran away. Bilbo has come very close to doing just that.

Bilbo out on the kayak with Geoff.

Bilbo out on the kayak with Geoff.

I know I’ve shared about Bilbo’s intrepid adventures in previous posts. He’s gone sailing, kayaked and looking at the publicity shots, you’d have to say he is quite the intrepid adventurer.

However, contrary to popular belief, the camera lies. Indeed, it can tell the biggest, most seemingly believable, porky pies because, as we’ve been told, the camera never lies!! It sees what it sees. However, it makes the moment seem eternal and can give a fleeting moment a sense of eternity when it was perhaps a moment in time…and an exceptional moment at that!

Despite his bold, audacious and almost ferocious warnings to the postman, Bilbo is bark and all fright. Unlike Lady who greets anybody and everybody at the front door with enthusiastic tail wagging and thump thump thump at accelerating speeds, Bilbo avoids strangers. He generally doesn’t like being patted until he’s really warmed up to people, even those he sees regularly…except for my mother AKA “Ham-Ma”  who has been feeding him ham scraps even since he was a pup.He doesn’t even bark when her car pulls up. Like most dogs, even Bilbo’s love and trust is easily bought.

Perhaps, if I’d offered him food treats every time I tried to brush his rump, his fur might not have ended up in the knotted mess it’s in. Bilbo is the ultimate avoider and doesn’t understand anything about a stitch in time.

Hence, the clip.

I did try to attend to Bilbo’s woes myself and apart from nightly brushing and judicious use of the scissors, I also  gave the mutt a bath. Bilbo has only had a bath once before and to be quite   honest, he hasn’t needed a bath before either. He usually maintains his coat well himself with minimal intervention and never smells.

The beast looks relatively calm here but the hose is off.

The bath. Here the beast looks relatively calm  but the hose is off. He was wild…absolutely wild!!

That’s all changed and he currently stinks…I mean really sticks and his fur is greasy, matting and he seems to have a flea allergy. We’re getting the coat off and then expect to take him to the vet. Get him sorted.

Any moment now, the dog groomer is going to pull up and I am feeling quite nervous. I really don’t know how this is going to pan out. He went ballistic at the hose last week biting the water and lunging at me with his claws out. He gave mister quite a fright and left scratches in my legs. He can get quite skittish in some situations.

“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.
– Nelson Mandela

Yet, Bilbo is not afraid. He’s asleep on the floor, oblivious to his impending ordeal. Instead, it’s me feeling the fear and trying to be brave.

Oh dear…they’ve just pulled up. Wish us luck. We’re going to need it!!

How do you have any tales to tell about your dog and baths and trips to the salon?

Meanwhile, have a Happy Valentine’s Day!

The Sun Sets on Winter: Palm Beach, Sydney.

Goodbye Winter…Welcome Summer.

Last night, the sun set on Winter and this morning it rose into Summer. In other words, we put our clocks forward for daylight savings, gaining a precious extra hour of daylight. Regardless of what we all learn at school about the four seasons, for me putting the clocks forward signals the beginning of summer and being able to frollic on the beach after work or play. Conversely, turning the clocks back, is the death knoll to Summer and the beginning of Winter. Our climate is pretty fabulous most of the time so we don’t get real extremities but we do have a saying that in Sydney you can have “four seasons in one day”. It’s not wrong.

Lady at Sunset, Pittwater, Palm Beach

Lady at Sunset, Pittwater, Palm Beach

The annoying thing, however, about putting the clocks forward is that while we might ultimately gain that extra hour of sunlight, today we lost an hour and I’m expected to go to bed an hour earlier which doesn’t fit in with my writing ambitions for the night and I’m also down to the final 20 or so pages of a fabulous book: The Rosie Process, the sequel to the bestselling: The Rosie Project.

While I’m seriously tempted to rebel and stay up for the extra hour, especially as I had my usual “nanna nap” during the day and tomorrow is a public holiday, the kids go back to school on Tuesday and I somehow need to revert from “holiday time” to “term time”. This is going to require superhuman effort as suspect that I’ve relaxed too much on holidays and may not be able to find my way back.

I always knew too much meditation can be harmful.

I always knew too much meditation can be harmful.

You see, I recently discovered that all my looking out the window fixating at the ocean, is actually a subconscious form of meditation. I don’t know a lot about meditation but there is a relaxation technique where you fixate on a point. I had never thought about this before until I found myself feeling rather sleepy while looking out the window. To compound the hypnotic effect, as the swell rises and falls, it’s the equivalent of what we saw in cartoons as kids where they have the swinging pendulum: “you’re getting sleepy…very, very sleepy”. The waves are literally hypnotic. No wonder I’ve been having so much trouble getting with the program. I’ve been in a trance.

However, as I said before, the trance ends on Tuesday when the kids not only go back to school but all their activities go back as well. I also have to front up for my violin lesson on Wednesday night and I know I’m going to be spending the entire lesson in the confessional: “Forgive me teacher for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since I last played my violin.” Yes, I’ve been very naughty and preoccupied elsewhere with new dogs, blogs and research projects not to mention kids home on school holidays.

Although the sun usually doesn’t set over the ocean on the East Coast of Australia, you can be lucky..especially if you are on a penninsula like we are at Palm Beach. We enjoy some beautiful sunsets and it’s just beautiful watching the sun set in slow motion through the gumtrees across the bay and watch the delicate palette of colours flicker across the water. The sound effects can be a bit questionable at times. Right on sunset, there is a deafening sunset screech as a mass exodus of sulphur-crested cockatoos takes off from the gumtrees and balconies on our side of the bay and heads for the national park. It’s their daily ritual.

Anyway, as much as I’d like to get ahead of time, yet again, it’s run ahead of me and I seriously need to get to bed.

Goodnight!

xx Rowena

Poem: Surfing in the Hour Glass

 

Sometimes,

I wonder

whether surfers live forever,

eternally riding the golden wave…

caught up

in some kind of perpetual motion,

the constant, rhythmic  rolling of the sea?

I don’t know.

Summer, autumn, winter and spring

and even when the ocean’s wild with rage,

they’re always surfing.

Season after season,

year after year,

merging into an eternal wave.

Timeless,

iconic,

they’re perched

on the very edge of the world…

wave,

after wave

after wave,

thirsting for the big one.

I’m sure the very same surfers

were here last year

and even decades past.

They all look pretty much the same.

Dream the same dreams

although the girls are also out there now

no longer content just watching

the iron men from the beach.

They also want a piece of the action!

The car park has also changed.

Most of the kombis have rusted

and have gone to hippy heaven,

although their spirits still live on.

Yet,

there’s still this timelessness,

as though the sand has somehow

by-passed the hour glass.

Time has stood still,

so very, very still

and is barely breathing at all.

For the surfers are still out there

burning under the blazing, summer sun.

Perched on their boards

like a pod of bobbing seals,

they’re waiting.

Waiting.

Still waiting

for the perfect wave.

Breathing in and out in time

with the great, deep lungs of the sea.

They are almost one.

DSC_7967

Meanwhile,

a lone dog lies

waiting on the beach…

perpetually waiting

with patient devotion.

His loving eyes glued

only to his master.

He never complains.

Doesn’t count the minutes,

hours, days and decades

and just wags his tail

happy and content

whenever Dad returns.

After all, a surfer’s dog

is a breed of its own.

I can’t help wondering whether

the poor dog’s ever been fed.

Wave after wave,

comes and goes

and he’s seemingly been parked

on the beach forever

like an abandoned wreck.

He hasn’t budged.

No one’s even offered him a bone.

He’s just waiting,

almost hibernating in the summer sun.

Waiting for the wave,

which never seems to come.

Waiting for the wave,

which will bring his master home.

Poem: The Surfer’s Dog

A darkened silhouette camps

down on the beach

shadowed by the rising sun.

Perched on the sand

like an antipodean sphinx,

he’s almost been there

since The Dreaming.

It’s the surfer’s dog.

He’s salty and sandy

with a wet, scraggly coat.

There’s a streak of pink zink

on his nose.

More Scruffy than Fluffy,

he knows he’s not pretty

but he’s just fine.

At least, he’s not

a backyard dog!

Oh no!

A surfer’s dog is a breed

all of its own!

 

Hibernating on the beach

in the hot, Australian sun,

his breathing’s slowed down.

Almost slowed down to a stop.

He barely moves from his spot.

Waiting…still waiting for his master!

He might have been waiting

but a dog’s still a dog.

Even the surfer’s dog will be

your best friend for a feed.

He’s heard many sad songs.

Has given advice

and has just been

a good place to lean.

Yet, as much as he listens

and can be a great mate,

his heart only belongs

to his master.

Nobody knows quite how long

he’s been waiting.

The beach is somehow beyond time

and the sun simply rises and sets.

Time comes and goes with the tides.

But the surfer’s dog’s always been there

He’s now become part of the place.

A real champion,

he never complains.

You don’t even hear

a soft whimper.

He’s not afraid of

being left on his own.

He knows that his master

always comes home.

2.

Whenever I’ve gone to the beach,

the surfer’s dog has always been there.

Lying on the beach in the distance,

he’s almost a part of the sand.

Yet, as much as I felt like I knew him,

that I’d heard the song in his heart

we were really only just strangers.

I didn’t know what he thought.

But today for some reason unknown,

I sat down beside him and stopped.

Threw him a stick.

Gave him a pat.

We sat watching the waves roll by.

It was then that I finally heard it.

Heard the song playing in his heart.

A song with a beat of its own

and a dream which set him apart.

While other dogs just bark at the postman

or might chase the neighbourhood cat,

he wants to learn how to surf.

Ride the waves for himself.

Yet,

as much as the waves

might roar in his heart,

as much as he lives

for his dream,

the surfer’s dog

is stuck in his tracks.

Paralysed.

Stonkered, it seems.

He can dream all he likes

but a dog’s still a dog.

Dogs do not surf.

They only wait on the beach,

defending their turf.

Who’s he to challenge

the great status quo?

The way it’s always been?

He might have his dreams

but a dog’s still a dog.

No dog likes to be

laughed at, it seems.

Oh no! A dog has his pride.

He’s the surfer’s dog

and a surfer’s dog

never, ever cries!

Yet,

fear hasn’t stopped him

from dreaming.

He knows one day

that he’ll be brave.

That one day he’ll strut into the water

and will finally catch that big wave.

3.

The sun had almost reached midday

when his master finally returned.

He emerged from the surf strong and tall,

strutting down the beach with his board.

A tanned, Australian Adonis,

he sparkled like diamonds in the sun.

No need to whistle or call to his dog.

The dog was already gone.

Running, leaping, almost flying

wagging his tail non-stop,

the dog was right by his side.

I’ve never seen such love…

such devotion.

Yet,

I felt a little bit sad

as the dog’s surfing dreams

had all gone.

A dog’s dreams might be transient.

They ebb and flow with the tides.

But the surfer and his dog…

they will live forever.

Their love will never, ever die.

Rowena