◉ 010 | Don’t You Want to Be Happy?

It’s hot. 40+.

Creek trail.

Gladstone Park.

No shade. No breeze down here.

I walk alone.

No one around.

Cirrus clouds overhead—

high, wind-swept, angelic.

Like you often see in Perth.

I lived there for fifteen months.

Now I’m here.

Different coast. Same sky.

I notice the Woolworths trolley,

half-submerged,

the McDonald’s cup,

and the piece of cardboard—

all in the pond.

And the sun—

tiny reflections everywhere.

Speckles.

Spectacles.

I slow down.

I look closer—

some things don’t want to be seen.

But I keep trying.

Every day.

If you look long enough—

even the most ordinary things

start to speak.

Not just what they are on their own,

but what they mean

when held together in a single frame.

Something metaphysical.

I push my camera into a bush.

It’s barely knee-high.

But inside the frame—

a forest.

Thick trunks.

Layers of green.

Amazon-like.

Not because it is,

but because it could be.

—

I had parked the car at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Finished my bread-and-butter job.

Aircon still lingering.

I opened the door. Stepped out.

Outside, the heat hit hard—

the city in the distance,

the freeway cutting through the valley,

wires and scrub stretching across it.

Nothing called out.

I stood there,

thinking of heading home.

Too hot.

Too ordinary.

A few seconds later—

bread scattered on dark asphalt

caught my eye.

Someone had fed the birds.

It got me moving.

I kept descending into the valley.

It was hot.