That bridge which spans the Hunter River and takes us north and south.

And how it was kinda early in the day and I could see tufts of fog when I breathed in and out. I was facing the east, down river I suppose, and it was real nice up there on the bridge dear reader, real beautiful?

And the way I got to thinking about a few things while I was there on that early Saturday morning bridge. Like how we can see the clouds in the sky down there along the winding coastline. 

And how from up there, up here, up the river we can see them hanging and rising there above the enormous sea.

And the way I always liked them big cumulus clouds down there, the way they swell and expand and point to danger and rain and all that. The way they kinda belong to the ocean and how when I see them I know where I am and that “down there”, “down river”, well, that’s the sea.

And I got to thinking dear reader about how I kinda live between two shores – between here, beside the river in Maitland, and down there, in Newcastle, where our river joins the ocean, where she culminates to fruition.

And I like how they came up the river to here all them years ago. I like that them convicts escaped from Sydney; I like how they came a-looking for them and discovered the river that the Wonnarua people already knew for thousands of years. 

I like that they came up that river to here. I like it that this is where I learned to breathe and that. I like that we got a river that goes through the middle of us, through the heart of us. 

And I like the way the sunshine looks in the morning dear reader. The way it comes streaming in from the east, across the farms and fields and along the river itself. 

I like the way it carries the sea with it and how it lights the buildings on the High Street and the faces of the people. 

I like the way it makes the clouds down there in old Newcastle look in the morning too. The way they look grand and important.

And the way up there on the bridge above the river you can look into the soft rising sun and the neophyte day. You can think of all the times you made your way down to the yonder seaside.

Like how you followed the river and found Nobbys Beach; how on some far-off dreamy teenage day you lay near the lighthouse and watched the waves and thought about everything, and nothing. 

And how us river-town people flee our February heat to down there, down to where the big clouds heap in the sky, how we go to taste the oceanic wind and earn respite from the claustrophobic heat of the soil. 

And how sometimes when we go down there in the evening it’s too cold for swimming, too cold for us – and we slacken and slump back home – chastened by the sea and her cold cargo. Too cold for river-town boys like me, like us.

And the way it occurred to me again dear reader that I like the connection between those two shores, between the sea down there and here. 

I like the way we’re just up the river from the great ocean, how we can see them clouds down there in the sky?

And so it goes.

Goodnight.