A slow ride to Boorowa

Awoke this morning after a restless night of swirling Celtic flavoured dreams interrupted now and then by a giant screen of written words that would slide across, white ink on black matt, like silent-movie intertitles from a Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplin film.

Later I simmered in bed with a cup of tea resting on my chest listening to the Magpie dawn chorus.

I tried to remember the dreams and the words, but the birds were an easy distraction and the memories quickly escaped through the gaps in my attention.

Ripley’s rest for the evening.

A dim, monochrome light sneaking around the curtains slowly filled out into the promise of a sunny day.

At last.

Canberra snagged the frayed end of a large cold front about a week ago.
It has hung over us since then like some arctic sail luffing noisily in the wind.
The stillness this morning shedding an obvious change, a definite sign to get moving.

(click link for map)
11 C
121 Km

Much later we were going.

Me upfront in Ripley, enjoying steering her through the last of the morning rush-hour, John Coltrain turned up loud and on point, and Juno clipped in his safety harness beside me peeking intently over the dash on lookout for people or animals or objects or smells that might require a damn good barking at.

Much later still, we arrived.

To be honest, Boorowa looks a little worse for wear than the last time we were here. It still has a very pretty Apex park beside the river. But a few of the quirky shops that we enjoyed browsing through on our last visit have gone.

The large old shut-down store with beautiful wooden floorboards, leadlight windows and a grand staircase that we thought was being renovated, has instead lapsed into further disrepair. Wooden floorboards gone and staircase mocked by a bank of post-apocalyptic neon lights dangling down at tippy angles on their wiring.

Perhaps it was simply because it is the middle of winter. Or perhaps because it was Monday and many of the shops still trading were closed. Whatever the reason, today Boorowa seemed hunkered down in drab and hibernation.

Juno totally oblivious to the Golden Hour.

Juno and I wandered around the streets for a while before gravitating down to the relative colour and life of the riverbank.

We sat for a while and listened to the Magpies close the day.

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