Quirks on the land
and into the sky

melbourne city paints and sings itself as a work of art ...the bustle along swanston and collins street give way to a pang of silence or shock not commonly found in the 80+ cities, townships (or 24 countries) i've been elsewhere, around the world. there is the cow in the sky. an inverted flesh-mixed-concrete milkpot topped on the bare branches of an old tree. at other junctions, trains run like matchbox toys on the go, fixated to the rail, knitted to a land of journeys. buskers make living out of used pots and pans and breezy individuals and the occasional gull, lie /stand flat on spring grass, letting the day wash over them, almost always oblivious to the oncoming list of schedules and tasks to be done that day. The dome of another museum returns a chapter of time to europe. And pedestrians walk on, breathing the day as it is, most times ready with a hurried and earnest smile to aid those in need.

i was heading home one evening on the tram. the gust of spring winds chilled the carriage. people were going home in the still of night. some carried brown bags of leftover party food, perhaps just enough for breakfast the next day. a pair of lovebirds cuddled for warmth while a teenager, ear-choked with spikes and chains beams a silver ray of relief against the deepening dark.

and there it happened...a whistle, followed by a jazzful trail of song, serenaded across the tram speakers. it came from the tram driver's compartment. i could never remember the exact tune or words but the lyric sense & tenor made us all stare wide-eyed to the front, immersed, if only for a few minutes, into the evensong that was sung. there i was, with my feet on the seat, i became another melbournite one rough tumble ruffian of sorts, cast into deep spell, encountering jazz in the most unlikely places. we all applauded the driver when he ended his call, appreciative of his tender and most unexpected gift, plucking a chord, riding on the lull of his own voice...taking us home...