Beginnings

Dora Creek runs into Lake Macquarie on the east coast of Australia. I live about 2 km upstream, on the bend past the railway bridge. On a quiet night I can hear the coal trains rattling across that bridge. On a cool and quiet morning, like yesterday, the mist rising off the water blocks the view across the creek so that we appear to be floating in white space, and the train engines sound muffled through the ether.

Most morning though, there's no mist, just a real still quiet surface reflecting the trees growing the other side, a reflection so clear and still you think you can see individual leaves. Sooner or later - sometimes sooner, sometimes later - the morning breeze kicks in, the water ruffles and the images fracture and disappear.