Summer Stories
1 min
Summer, 1981
Louise Burlinson
Summer's soundtrack is on repeat: the wash of waves on the shore, the bent-neck, indignant arguing of seagulls over sandy chips, and the laughter of cousins. We've all got sandy feet, and salt-kissed hair tickles our browning shoulders.
‘What day is it?'
Clutching precious coins turning sweaty in my palm, we trek up the beach to the kiosk on Andersons Wharf. We round the corner and stomp up the wooden stairs. Do we have enough silver for a Paddle Pop? Chocolate or rainbow? Not banana. Or maybe an icy pole? These are weighty decisions.
‘But I don't want to go home.'
On endless cousin-filled play days, we kneel and build sandcastles with dribbled sand turrets. Castle moats are scraped out by small, familiar hands. The water's coming! Let's dig right through to the other side of the world. Time for another swim.
Diesel, fishing gear and the salt-crusted nets of the boatshed. Watch the gutting knife. Old fish scales, tiny flat jewels, pepper the grass. Permanent sunshine as the days stretch on forever like the blue skies. Tomorrow, if we're lucky, we might find a seahorse bobbing in
the weed.
‘Not yet, Mum.'
There is lemonade. Turned into Fire Engines by the alchemy of cochineal colouring in Duralex glasses. Guess the tiny number hidden at the bottom. Fish (that we caught) and chips for dinner. Nana's face breaks into a beaming, shell-pink smile. Elnett and powdery perfumed hugs.
‘No. Please don't take me home!'
© Louise Burlinson. From Ourselves published by Night Parrot Press (2024).
Louise Burlinson is a writer who grew up in Sydney, lived in England and now calls Perth home. Lost in daydreams of other worlds, she spends her days composing poetry, short stories and flash fictions. Her works have been published in local anthologies and collections.
www.nightparrotpress.com
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