I go down to the bay in the dark.  We meet at the pier; dressed alike in our second skins.  The sun begins to come up somewhere behind Arthurs Seat, air-brushing the sky turquoise.  We shiver and wrap our bare arms around ourselves while we wait for the stragglers; giggling in the half-light, making jokes about what new hell we will experience today.

‘Okay ladies,’ the trainer says, and the torture begins.

 Eventually, red-faced, exhausted, I collapse on the sand.  We have pushed up and chinned up and kneed up and I am finished.

The sun is over the hills, glinting off the mirror of Port Phillip Bay, the dog walkers are filtering down to the water’s edge, clutching bags, nodding to each other.  The small waves curl against the sand in a gentle rhythm, my pulse begins to slow.

Kate comes back from the toilets and says ‘ready?’

We take off our shoes and run into the water in our lycra, screeching as the cold meets our skin with a shock that feels electric.  I dive down in the shallow water and my face skims the sand.  Our voices amplify across the surface of the water, stealing minutes from the hectic morning ahead. 

 A dark shadow approaches.  We freeze and fall silent and my heartbeat seems to shimmer the water as a stingray passes, gliding between us, smooth and purposeful.  It disappears into the blue; we both release a rush of breath and laugh with relief.

I drive home, leaving a large wet imprint on the seat.I will see it later on the school run and amongst the rush and noise and screams to hurry up I will remember the stingray, its powerful grace as it flowed past us and away.

This is my voice.

The Guardian

I am a Guardian. Like my mother and her mother, and her mother before;Nurturing, protecting, weavingthe tapestry of family and community with small, tight stitches. I am the keeper of time and secrets and memories; the protector of my home, my heart, your...

The Stingray

I go down to the bay in the dark.  We meet at the pier; dressed alike in our second skins.  The sun begins to come up somewhere behind Arthurs Seat, air-brushing the sky turquoise.  We shiver and wrap our bare arms around ourselves while we wait for the...

Writing woman

The voice of a retired widow, with time to indulge in the glories of our Peninsula. I wake every morning to a view of the bay; fishing boats, still on glass, cruise ships leaving, distant view of the You Yang’s, sail boats bobbing in the evening....

Secret Keeper

And Yes, I am the housekeeper. Chief cook and bottle washer - that’s me too. We all know I live to do laundry! And while we’re at it  - any gardening, tidying, cleaning or shopping that needs to be done hey, I’m your girl! But why stop there? It’s a...

Legacy Lady

I am the dust on the mantle, the sepia steely-eyed matron. I am the memory of Committee Presidents, the name on Honour Boards, saluting legends, leaving legacies. The plaque in the park. The bequest to a town. The clipboard ticking Mistress who would not...