Earlier this year but still during lockdown, work sent me over to the gritty industrial west of Melbourne to a station where I’d never been before. I’m from the middleclass eastern suburbs and grew up regarding this place as very much the wrong side of the tracks.
On this cold misty morning it’s all grit and grime.
Against a cold grey sky huge trucks roar as they belt over the bridge above. Derelict wheat silos loom across the tracks, rotting industrial machinery strewn at its feet. The only other person in sight is a man in a black hoody crossing the weed pocked car park. Of course. Maybe a drug dealer?
Here be dragons.
Except that someone has decorated the platform with planters of flowers.
And I’m somewhere new! During the Covid lockdown I’m somewhere new. Woo Hoo!
As I watch the man in the black hoodie begins to skip.
Poetic!
I’m using my self-imposed lockdown to explore my local community and region – going someplace new lots of days.
That’s beautiful Jane! Don’t know why it made me cry. But then anything beautiful does that to me now.
That’s beautiful Jane! Don’t know why it made me cry. But then anything beautiful does that to me now.
… That machinery at Albion station, is how I imagine one of Clifford D. Simak’s ‘Way Stations’ !