An after-burn of the day, indistinct, dark and shadowy. It smells of the city, the exhausts, the overflowing garbage cans, and sounds like thundering trams. A giant bat wing arcing up to meet the enfolding blackness, the two of them becoming one as the first stars of night begin to twinkle against the glare of the incandescent city. The setting sun paints the horizon with bands of pink and orange as clouds tuck themselves into bed for the night. The air conditioners are the long winded snore of the city, the constant breathing in and somewhere an exhaust fan spits out all the particles of humanity and coffee machines and offices that have been collecting throughout the day,
Camping in the bush, the mountain in front of us obscures the sun and it’s face turns to black, the grey granite outcroppings loose their flavour, unlike the spicy rice we’ve just conjured up. The gas lamp hisses out light and warmth as the first nettles of cold begin to creep around our fingers, the meal keeping them warm, the heat transmitting through the bottom of the metal plates to numbing fingers. The rice floats about inside my mouth like little pellets of goodness. Steamed vegetables, disintegrate into a slushy mass, the carrots taste neutral, the broccoli stiff, and the beans cumbersome, crunchy. It’s a jiggling mass as my mouth blends them all together before delivery. The mountain now just a large blot on the sky striking out some of the forest of stars that are now surrounding us. The Milky Way, the Magellanic clouds, are whispy fogs in a limitless overhead expanse. The cold starts to get severe, the ends of my fingers tingling with numbnness, time to snuggle inside our home away from home and keep each other warm.
