I am sitting on our balcony. A warm gusty northerly wind is blowing. Our balcony does not suffer north wind turbulence. Tree branches are bending and swaying in the wind. The crackly dry brown Autumn leaves are dancing in patterns on the street. Occasionally one will rise and perform a mini ballet in front of my eyes before it shoots upwards or falls to earth. A lad is running at speed down and across St Kilda Road and not to catch a tram. I wonder what's his story, his life. Is he a fleeing thief? An indulgent sculpture in front of a residential tower glows pink. A former blogger who worked nearby described the sculpture as an overengineered slug. One of the many authorities in charge of our street has replaced the warm glow of orange street lamps on one side with much superior bright white LED lighting, yet I like the warm glow that I can see on the other side of the street. Soon the trees will be leafless and and our sixteenth year of having a better view of heavy traffic in our street will reappear.
I close my eyes, and I can hear things. Above the white noise of our busy street, I hear a tram air conditioner running, confirming that it is warm evening. I can hear the thud of skateboard wheels on the hard paving of Illoura as lads launch themselves from ground level over steps to land and break up the soon to be redundant paving. I hear trams grinding to a stop as their wheels lose traction on the juice of Autumn leaves. There will be lots of visible sand dust tomorrow, as the succession of steel wheels grind the braking sand to a powder. Unless my sleep is interrupted by the sound of the tram track cleaner sucking, nay roaring up the sand at 4am. I shall keep my bedroom window closed tonight. I hear the rattle of a metal fitting on a flagpole at the Malaysian Embassy. I like the rhythm. I can hear a young female voice, the well spoken voice of one who speaks much too loudly in company. How many of the Oh My God phrase can be fitted into one sentence. I can't pick which private girls school she attends by her voice alone, although I have my suspicions. I hear the birdsong, as studies have revealed they sing much louder in noisy city environments. It must be getting late now, as I can hear road signs being dragged across the road, as work will go on tonight within the Metro Rail/Tunnel/Whatever construction zone where we live.
I can always see, but at times I don't. My world is never silent, but at times my ears make restorative silence.
I will wear any comment that says, what a load of un-edited self indulgent wankery.