Fog
this morning. Old tin warehouses, above grassy drop to Darebin Creek, are shrouded
like an engraving. Wind meters keep the weather in check, spinning clicking
down today. Cotoneaster dark red amidst dark green. Their long streets of
verandahed houses elm-shaded, paid historians and school councillors powerwalk
footpaths. Dayworkers in beanies and scarves, their plastic and pearls, wait
for the train. Broken crust river gums slide into lowered cloud. April fog dampens
rooftops, cartops. The Paper Mill is falling down, falling down. Dan Murphy
stands sober as a judge. Golf course is no longer lonely. Heidelberg Road is
fairly heavy.
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