A sea of dust
September 23, 2009 § 2 Comments
It must have been around 6am this morning when I cracked my eyes open to a sky of deep orange, filtering into my loft bedroom through the slits of the vertical window blinds. The feeling I got was ominously soothing, like I was the lone survivor in the aftermath of an event of apocalyptic proportions which occured while I was sleeping.
The external morning sounds appeared normal – the click clack of my neighbour’s heels and the slamming of the front gate, the thunderous roar of the many trucks that pass by my building, and even sounds of little kids rolling past the hall downstairs. I took a peek outside and saw the Sydney I knew engulfed in a sea of orange dust which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
Walking past the local cafe, I observed all the parked cars blanketed in this dust, which seems so foreign. The normal route to Redfern station greeted me with folk holding face masks like they were trying to avoid the plague. It seemed over the top – after all, it is only dust.