As I write this my Outrigger and I are perched on a balcony. The Outrigger has his nose buried in a law book and I am busy making up strategies in the pursuit of another dream. (Strictly speaking though, I'm procrastinating at the moment.) The Outrigger says I have a knack for making dreams come true. Sometimes this is a scary thought. From where we sit I see pine trees, grey sky and a distant lighting storm. An occasional crow flies across our view. I can almost forgive the cars and jeepneys rattling up and down the road below us. I can almost forgive the loud pop music and the mediocre coffee from the cafe behind us. This morning I took my two daughters, the Artist-in-Residence and the Little Boss, horseback riding. They spent half an hour humming to each other in their own world, on the back of Viper, a pony that the Artist-in-Residence has loved and returned to again and again for the past ten years. Lifetime friendships are made in Wright Park. Halfway through the day w
(notes from the voices in my head)