Queenscliff sits on a hill.
Down the hill towards the bay are the gardens, where a lawn like an old threadbare carpet sweeps down almost to the water. Here, ancient pines soar and their time-ravaged limbs point brokenly at nothing and they creak and grind and if you listen carefully you can hear the topmost branches whisper.
We sat on a drift of pine needles beneath one of the old trees and ate lunch. It was cooler in the shade. On a slight breeze was the tang of brine and seaweed mixed with the spice of hot pine. The distinctive aroma is one of my earliest memories. I must have been one or two when first taken to the beach on some broiling day in the late nineteen fifties.
Five or six rainbow lorikeets darted and swooped in one of the pines but they didn't stay long. They like berries and flowers on their trees. In another pine, magpies ogled and danced. Magpies don't care about the tree. Their eyes are on the ground.
Lunch was simple. We had brought a picnic of bread rolls, cheese, olives, avocado, tuna, lettuce, quartered tomatoes, mayonnaise. In between eating little pieces of cheese, William stooped over the pine needles, arms out and back, and studied them like a botanist. He picked up a pine needle, carefully, between index finger and thumb, walked over to me, held it out.
Down the hill towards the bay are the gardens, where a lawn like an old threadbare carpet sweeps down almost to the water. Here, ancient pines soar and their time-ravaged limbs point brokenly at nothing and they creak and grind and if you listen carefully you can hear the topmost branches whisper.
We sat on a drift of pine needles beneath one of the old trees and ate lunch. It was cooler in the shade. On a slight breeze was the tang of brine and seaweed mixed with the spice of hot pine. The distinctive aroma is one of my earliest memories. I must have been one or two when first taken to the beach on some broiling day in the late nineteen fifties.
Five or six rainbow lorikeets darted and swooped in one of the pines but they didn't stay long. They like berries and flowers on their trees. In another pine, magpies ogled and danced. Magpies don't care about the tree. Their eyes are on the ground.
Lunch was simple. We had brought a picnic of bread rolls, cheese, olives, avocado, tuna, lettuce, quartered tomatoes, mayonnaise. In between eating little pieces of cheese, William stooped over the pine needles, arms out and back, and studied them like a botanist. He picked up a pine needle, carefully, between index finger and thumb, walked over to me, held it out.
I love the blog that you have. I was wondering if you would link my blog to yours and in return I would do the same for your blog. If you want to, my site name is American Legends and the URL is:
ReplyDeletewww.americanlegends.info
If you want to do this just go to my blog and in one of the comments just write your blog name and the URL and I will add it to my site.
Thanks,
David
The beach is one place that can instill almost as many memories as food isn't it. The heat, the smells, the freedoms of it.
ReplyDeleteI certainly enjoyed your picnic on the beach.
So do I understand now that soupcon means you'd like a little of that?
I've only been to Queenscliff once, about 3 years ago when, desperate to escape the city for the day, my partner instinctively headed that way. Born a Sydney girl I was missing the beach terribly and we happily ate crappy fish and chips by the sea under those very pine trees. Queenscliff is beautiful - thanks for reminding me.
ReplyDeleteDavid, I don't know much about gridiron or baseball, but Australian Rules Football? Don't get me started. Hey, that's some blogroll!
ReplyDeleteHalfCups, yes: I would like a little of that. Maybe a lot.
Lucy, those trees have seen some history.