trains
Dear Ciara,
There are parsley seedlings popping up everywhere: in the green garden beds, near the water tank, and even some around that pineapple plant I have growing next to the bins. I’ve never successfully grown parsley from seed before, but somehow, I have managed to unintentionally grow it this past month. Perhaps I needed to wait until the dry season? The seeds must have been tangled up in some of the compost I put on the gardens before I headed down south. I’m not complaining—I use parsley a lot in my cooking.
I had a fantastic week in NSW, spending time with family and, of course, with you! While we only spent a single night together, I am glad that we got to swap stories over cheese and tea, sit on your balcony and watch the trains passing by. I love riding the train. It is something I desperately miss about living in NSW. Those early mornings on the train, the fog swirling just above the surface of the rocky landscape. The way it can make a eucalyptus forest feel like a private sanctuary.
It was also whale watching season during my visit, and I spent a lot of time with my sister watching whales move between headlands along the Mid North Coast. We saw humpback whales breaching, dolphins, and perhaps even a small pod of orcas (though I can’t be sure) dancing along the shore. The water was that deep blue colour, and foamy and cold between your toes. Such a novelty now that I live in a region known for its aquamarine, warm water.
I will endeavour to write more of Dear Ciara now that I am back, as I admit, I’ve been really slack of recent. While I thought I had established a solid habit of writing regularly, it appears my travels encouraged that habit to come undone. It doesn’t help that I am back at work, tangled up in threads of monotony and stress. I have some friends visiting over the weekend, though, which will hopefully give me something to write about.
Continue to watch the trains for me. Speaking of which, the song for today is:
Where I Sit — Men I Trust
I was listening to this album on repeat when I was on the train heading south to visit you. Something about their music matches a cold, foggy, temperate morning.
Love,
The Gardener