It is raining.  Crickets are chirping, just like any feature film soundtrack set in Australia at night time.  A car is accelerating as it travels down the street.  Yesterday I noticed that there are a lot of frogs at dusk around our house, which is odd because we removed the frog pond (that never attracted a frog) and there are no ponds in our neighbours’ courtyards either.  But there are definitely frogs.  Perhaps they travel up from the Swan River.

In Melbourne last fortnight, when we flew over to surprise Tim (bought front row centre seats to his musical and didn’t tell him, so he saw us when he heard Vaughan titter at one of his hilarious lines), I lay on the bed in Albert’s spare room on Sunday trying to nap and heard a lot of birds.  In downtown Melbourne.  Australia is full of animals.

There is a mosquito in our bedroom.  It has been biting me all week.  I wake up during the night, confusing dreams with reality and interpret the mosquito bites as something important that, on waking, makes no sense at all.

I felt sorry for our cat tonight, always meowing at us for more food, with me always politely requesting that she STFU.  It’s not her fault she can’t drive down to the IGA and buy an apple pie and some ice-cream for a finally finished some work paperwork that took three days to write small treat.  So I picked her up and gave her a cuddle and head scratch.  10 minutes later I was sneezing non-stop and scratching my watering eyes.

I miss hearing the perpetual sirens down Bloor or Yonge Streets in Toronto: police cars, fire engines, ambulances.  It is a good exchange though to have the sounds of the light rain (and some distant thunder) and animals.


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