The Passenger

Cooks Hill is a special place by moonlight, I think mostly because of the big overarching fig trees that line the streets and the old faded houses…crickets chirping, bat’s echoes, the gentle slow thumping of a band playing a gig at a local pub close by, it all just seemed so magical to me at the time. A fire twirler lived a few houses down for a while, and would often practice in the street making it even more so.
In summer, I would spend a whole day riding my bike or walking in the hot sun, ending up at the beach. Excited by a new secret spot - a delicious treat for hot, sticky red tinged skin. The best part of the discovery was having to wade through a cool, sparkly channel of water to reach the secluded bay. There I would lay back and soak up the sun’s rays and day dream, constantly day dream.