"Twit! Twit! Twit!"

There were storms overnight and as I set off this morning everything looked different and exactly the same.

The wind had spilled petals everywhere, so my walk was intermittently carpeted with pink and crimson, yellow and white.

Little birds squeaked merrily overhead, clearly delighted. Perhaps by the wet weather, perhaps by the sunny day that was slowly sneaking in around them.

Somehow the flowers looked especially pretty in the post-storm light. 

“I love you guys!” I murmured as I wandered by.

Lots of different things had been blown across driveways and paths and the road. Cardboard boxes, so many branches, flowers, leaves, fronds, birds’ nests, letter boxes.

Further along, a young man all dressed in black was rifling around in the boot of his car, coffee in one hand, bed haired head bent.

In the distance ahead someone was walking briskly after a jogging Labrador.

I round the corner and hear a familiar ‘beeeeep’ then pass a familiar high-gated house where a camera mounted above the front door flashes repeatedly. Perhaps capturing me. Perhaps not.

I notice a gorgeous unoccupied mid-century house a little further along the road has been newly accessorised with the biggest rubbish skip I have ever seen. 

The parklands are across the road and the grass looks beautifully velvety today, a soft pale-ish green, almost like it's floating atop a giant lagoon. Which it isn’t.

The other between-houses park is soggy and gleaming. A curtain of flowering gum lines one side and hooligan rosellas shriek a call and response shanty from somewhere in the canopy.

The knee-bumping tan dog from the other day appears from around the corner, but completely ignores me. He’s clearly much more interested in nosing out the things the storm’s unearthed and who can blame him?

So many tiny twigs scatter the path. Some are deep black, some woody brown with the most luminous green mossy foliage, some almost white or grey. 

Two irritated lorikeets screech and fly away. I have disturbed their morning romp in a camellia tree.

Near my house I pass a girl who is walking at a fast pace. She’s wearing maroon track pants and a black sweatshirt. Her arms are up, elbows extending out. Her black and purple hair swishes and flicks as she pulls it into a ponytail, never slowing her pace.

As I climb the final hill another bird calls “Wit! Wit! Wit!” or it could be “Twit! Twit! Twit!” It’s hard to know.