I both wonder and feel hollow at how much the 'Garden City' has changed while at the same time feel the same-ness of it - the air is more to the liking of the lining of my heart and my lungs. The city scape has changed even in the few short months since I passed through but dramatically so from when I jumped from tram to tram in nothing but a leotard and a t-shirt.

But the times are a changin'

Once I get over myself a bit, I fall on my crutch and start snapping pix. By now the tourist thinks I just stepped out of straight out of Barry Levinson's 'Rain Man' and is wondering if I will begin reciting "Who's on first".

Home is emotionally overwhelming for me.
It's like all the extra tears I have been saving for a rainy day, brim over once I am in my country. I can't help it. I have no control.
I feel bad for the random humans who feel uncomfortable in its vicinity, in this instance, an English tourist on the Peninsula bus.
Boo Hoo. What a sook!
But once I have that first bit out of the way, I usually have some control over the rest of it.

It also happens to be raining.

I sploshed my way, quick stepping sideways to avoid puddles and people in patches of rain between covered walkways to the bus stop. I was lugging a small case with inadequate wheels and a dance bag, a computer bag and the ever-present camera bag. Think pachyderm. Think purple pachyderm.

I felt like I was having so much more fun than the serious folk being umbrella escorted, by men who looked like something from a CIA movie, to a row of black cars across from the baggage claim.
How luxurious and important they must feel to step from the sliding doors into minder driven vehicles. I still think I was having more fun - but that was before I started to sook.

... There is something about arriving in Melbourne that always make me feel like I am alive.
A bit like waking from a extended sleep or getting out of the house after 72 hours of gastro.
My awareness is always heightened once I reach the entrance to the Tullermarine terminal. Terminal? The end? The entrance to the end?
It always feels like the entrance to the beginning. Every person and car, every bus or Sikh driving a taxi seem more real and sharp and present in the atmosphere.

Funny that the sun was finally shining on the north coast when I left ...

Morning.

Sunrise.

A coloured day, through empty eyes.

A teardrop, on a windowpane.

Imagine, cloudless rain.