Australian Afternoons

Australia feels like sky that forgot to stop. Blue in every direction, bright sun in front, sand under my paws and birds laughing in the trees as if they know some private joke. My humans said it felt good to be back somewhere warm in the south again. I pretended I was only there to conduct a very serious study of nap locations.

Coast days

We stayed near the coast, close enough that the sea was a constant background noise. Waves rolled in, rolled out, rolled in again. The sand was pale and soft, good for walking and better for sitting. From the deck I watched parrots streak across the sky, cockatoos argue from the tops of gum trees and magpies patrol the lawn with very businesslike steps.

Sometimes, far down the beach, I would notice a single brown dog trotting along the waterline with some human. Not running, not playing, just moving at an easy pace and occasionally glancing our way before turning back to the sea. Australia has many dogs. I reminded myself of this more than once.

On one of the softer evenings my humans sat outside and said the light felt perfect. I agreed. It seemed like a good time to make a small counting song about everything I could see.

Little song of south and sea

Soft waves chase my paw prints and I count them three

Sea birds argue overhead, circling in loose groups of five

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My humans walk ahead and I match each of their steps for two

A bigger wave catches us by surprise so we retreat and call it five

Sunlight glints on the water and I blink exactly two

For a moment the whole beach feels quiet, almost like it belongs to zero

Then gulls arrive to investigate our snacks and I count the bravest ones as eight

Far down the sand a passing jogger laughs as a small child drops their bucket at six

Next morning we drive inland and the highway lines stretch out as one

Low hills rise and fall beside us, gathering trees into soft groups of four

A mob of kangaroos watches from the scrub and I estimate their number at nine

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My humans change the music and tap along, insisting this new song deserves one

Dust swirls in the mirror behind us, spinning into tiny storms of three

A flock of cockatoos lifts off from a fence, flashing white wings in bursts of six

At a quiet rest stop we see only a parked ute and a distant tractor, travellers reduced to nine

The picnic table and bins stand empty, official company for our lunch is zero

When we finally see the glow of town lights ahead, the number of times I open my eyes is zero

Last light

That is how Australia sounded to me. Soft waves and loud birds. Long roads and small towns that appear slowly and then all at once. Warm evenings by the sea and cool nights under a southern sky. My humans say it feels like somewhere they could stay a long time. I would not argue. There are still windows I have not tried, sunny spots I have not tested and more than enough things left to count.