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Barwon Heads


I'll be sad to leave Barwon Heads tomorrow. I feel like I could stay here a lot longer. Doing very little and enjoying it.

We take a long walk down the main street, past beach houses old and new and wooden churches with large gardens stopping by shops run by ladies with posh sophisticated accents and prices to match. Then up along the river. 

The tide is out, exposing sandbars and seaweed in shades of brown and red. Jellyfish and clear jellied sacs of snail eggs on the sand. Dogs racing along the sand, playfully chasing each other. 

Turning around, we head in the direction of the sea. Behind the banks of the river is the caravan park my family sometimes camped in when I was a kid, part of my long history with this area. 

Across the other side of the river the long crescent of the beach stretches all the way to the lighthouse at Port Lonsdale. I once walked that distance to the sound of the crashing waves. 

Alex and I ascend the stairs up the bluff, but the walking track is closed. We walk back to the town, treat ourselves to a lunch before returning to the cottage. 

I have The House of Sun's by Alastair Reynolds to finish after discovering it in the used book collection in the cottage. 

I cook fish in a cream sauce for dinner, using the remainder of yesterday's purchases. The last time we'll have a kitchen for five days. 

Alex and I end the night with a drive back to the beach and a walk to the jetty. The tide is rushing in now, moonlight glittering off the ripples. Across the water, blinking colourful lights of beacons and the lighthouse. So many memories here. 

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