The bush track meanders above the river through native
bush. Trees waving. Shrubs fill the gaps between the waving trees. Un-mowed grass
carpets the black and brown dirt. Patches of bare earth emerge on the path. Randomly
arranged strap-like plants. Bees, flies and nameless insects fly haphazardly,
randomly supping and sipping on nectar. Hungry birds tapping, pecking and prodding
and lizards with protruding tongues watching and looking for nourishing food.
The old man listens. He hears. Birds chirp and sing. Waves clash onto rocks.
Bees buzz. He smells the plants. They give him beautiful aromatic smells. He devours the perfumes. How beautiful. He is
overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding him.
The bush track comes to an end with a seat above a
cliff surveying the river.
He flops down on the seat and stares at the river.
Clouds in the river continually change shape and colour. The river flows
downstream. The wind pushes waves of water upstream. The river remains rooted on
the river bed.
He unexpectedly feels the presence of somebody. A lady
dressed in a long dress stands before him. A faint apparition. Diaphanous and delicate.
He feels he could pass straight through her.
The lady. Elegant and graceful, floats towards him across
the path. Silent and noiselessly.
She hands him a cup of coffee and a slice of cake.
She says: Enjoy.
He takes the coffee and cake and says: Thank you.
He sips the coffee. Tastes like my favourite. Single
shot with skinny milk. Just the way I like it. And the cake looks good. Carrot
cake with icing. He bites a slice of the cake and then takes sip of coffee. In his mouth he infuses the cake with coffee
before swallowing.
Ah that tastes good. He closes his eyes to enhance the
flavour.
When he opens his eyes, he looks around and the lady
has disappeared. Gone. Ah well. Nice coffee. Nice cake.
He sits back finishes his coffee and cake. Wipes his
lips with his tongue. Audibly he says Ahh. That’s good. Places the saucer and
empty cup on the seat.
He wanders home.
A few days later the same man begins a walk on the
same track. He greets another man approaching him.
They chat idly about the weather. Nice day. Could do
with the rain but looks like no rain. Wouldn’t bet on it though. Bit windy.
The other man asks him: Are you going to Lizzie’s Leap.
Old man: Just going up this track?
The other man: To Lizzie’s Leap.
Old man: Is that what it is called?
The other man: Lizzie’s Leap. The end of this track. There
is a seat here now. The lookout overlooking the cliff.
Old man: Why is it called Lizzie’s Leap?
Other man: Years ago. About two hundred years ago a
lady jumped the cliff. Killed herself. Right there. From where the seat is. That’s
what they say.
Old man: Oh. Sad name.
Other man: Yes.
The man continues his walk to seat. Feels like a coffee and cake? Sits and waits
to be served. Like last time. Where is it?
Nothing happens. He stands and looks around. Nothing. He
walks towards the cliff. He gazes down at the base of the cliff. A woman in a
long dress lies stationary and prostrate on the rocks below the cliff.
Man, stares at the stiff body and thinks I should have
said something to help her. Said more than I did. What can I do now. My
daughter is about the same age. She is having issues. Boyfriend problems.
I must talk to her. Have a cuppa with her.
