The leaves were raining, and the rain was leaving puddles around my feet and misty imprints in the air, and I have never felt more alive. All morning the sun burned away at the fog, leaving halos around tall buildings and church spires--and I walked among the trees and the people and the bus stops, and I felt alive. And then it's night and the stars are up and out and I am four again. I am four and I am in Australia, and I am realizing the sky is just what it is and you will always be right there, right where I know to look.

And at least we're not drowning yet. At least the skies have not swarmed down, at least the rowdy sea has not decided that enough is enough, and seized the land once more. For a time it is only just enough and more than well enough, for a time it is ok for waves to meet rocks and for rocks to meet cliffs, and for cliffs to meet grassy heaths and heaths to meet roads and roads to lace up the surface of the ground, winding their way back to us, to tell us of the sea.

Ok then. Let's go to work.