Gavin Austin
Another Summer
a picnic in our favourite spot your hand in mine news of your diagnosis silently sits between us
We sat here. From the bench, I look dreamily out to sea. The bay is languid today, barely able to rouse itself; only a shift of current, a change in hue as sunshine strokes its flat face. The impression of a slow swell returning from the sea wall suggests it is not coloured glass. It stirs, rhythmically, as if breathing. Yachts leave white smudges as they orbit Clark Island.
Nearby, a koi breaks the pond’s surface. It leaps, splashing between water lilies, and the fallen magnolia petals from branches above; their reflections lattice the water lapping the old stone bridge. The scent of freshly mown grass arrives on a gentle push of breeze, along with the fragrance of flowering jasmine, bewitching the morning with the promise of a new season.
About the Author
Gavin Austin, lives in Sydney, Australia. Gavin writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.