The Coathanger

My first time on the Harbour Bridge, was probably on a bus into town when Mum went city shopping. Watching dusty red worms of trains race us across the bridge, sun on the left in the morning heading in; setting sun on the left heading home.

Sometimes the music from someone's transistor radio would match the rhythm of shadows cast by the big curve rising and falling. Then night lights grace the maths and steel in green flood and street light. At night rarely the only car.

Falling in love with the harbour happens as you cross on foot.