top of page
  • Writer's pictureChloe Roweth
    • 1 min read

The Beach

Glorious beach, and subtle shrieks with each sinking step falling into hot dry sand. Stepping up the motivation for an icy change. Surf’s up. Slap onto the wet stuff firm, and finally… In with a rush, splash, look out fish. A north-facing beach on the NSW mid-north coast. Borderland. Of course, it’s rolling chaos for an inexpert country boy. The ocean planet’s fierce wake-up call… A timely reminder to be here now. Wow, that was a big one - soar - dunk - cough - splutter - fly - half-drowned… and streaming salty happy tears. I’ll swim until midnight if the coast is clear.

9 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Joe Marshall warms slippered feet by morning fire, nursing pannikin tea. “Hot as hell, black as sin, sweet as a woman.” A dawn mantra. Old, alone, in a one-room Turon River hut, life hangs on bones of

David Broughton stares through sheeting rain, across Sydney city traffic, at the adversarial pub door. He has walked the block twice, in winter sun sinking; downtown is warning edged, dark. He pulls t

Shivery shadow walls stretch forever above. I’m off with Jim on another grand bush adventure. We’re holding fast to Li-los, shooting on a silver stream, inches over smooth grey-green stones; a Blue Mo

bottom of page