suburbia 4/

The photographer reports on autumn scenes in suburbia.

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The weather is mild and breezy in suburbia.

For a while I lost interest in doing infinite loops of the same streets, but the change in season and scenery makes walks inviting again.

The breeze lends an atmospheric, soul-stirring air to things. It draws me out. Away from glaring screens and incessantly dripping taps. It’s an easy call.  

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The air is fresh. Chimneys with Lego heads are etched against the blue sky. Dogs are being walked. 

The wind makes my hair dance around my head like a crown.

On the corner, tallboy empties littering the steps outside a restaurant, give me weird flashbacks to choir practice in primary school. Remembering a day when a kid toppled face first off one of the precarious tiered benches we had to stand on, until we felt like puking or toppling over. One of my greatest (read: “very few”) acts of defiance as a kid was daring to opt out of the choir when given the rare chance one day. 

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Around a tree; FRAGILE tape, and the remnants of a poster about a LOST pet. Poetry for the many of suburbia feeling fragile, and a little lost.

A piece of lone graffiti in the underpass suggests people “love one another”. A thought.

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In the park, a guy at a picnic table, sits with two empty stubbies by his side, glowing green in the morning sun. He’s showered in dappled sunlight. It’s a painting.

Winged seeds whirr down in slow motion, accompanied by a soundtrack of a ball bouncing on a court nearby. They land softly as the ball rattles through the hoop.

Dead leaves litter the ground like crumpled notes of a suddenly redundant currency.

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Down the street, away from the park, a mattress leans against the wall outside a house, waiting for someone to roll the dice on it. It’s draped in plastic sheeting, which billows in the wind like the folds of a dress; a faded flower pattern peeking from underneath it. R.I.P. summer.

A truck with a skip on it rattles by.

Clouds roll in and over everything.

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Warmth breaths condensate against cold windows as suburbia sleeps. And when they wake, it feels like forever before the sun rises red. 

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