The Gap

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The Gap

It felt late, later than it could possibly be. Still only dusk fading across the Sydney skyline, the Opera House and iconic bridge to the west would still be bustling with activity as people began heading home from work. Spring days pinching moments of sunlight from winter, still even before six o'clock, the day had extracted more than it ought. Releasing thoughts of the day into the breeze rising from the Tasman Sea, James exhaled a long sigh.

Imagining that he could observe his breath mixing in the air, floating away to join the clouds, peace began returning to him. Wisps of breath fading, watching the fleeing sun being consumed by the western lands, chased by the bruise colored sky, as he inhaled the beginning of his calm. Tomorrow it would begin again, the night would again pacify him.

Inhaling the unusually tactile humidity as it mixed with the cooling air, he reminded himself that everything is part of something else. Just as day fades into night and stress releases into tension, he embraced that night would retire the day. Somewhere he would become whole, a confluence of his experiences.

Now a habit for nearly twenty-five years these twilight walks always served him well: recalibrating his world; grounding his beliefs, enabling him to face the demands of tomorrow. Opportunities he called these walks.

Mutt was running ahead or lingering behind, filling his canine olfactory senses with clues of the unseen occupants that made The Gap home. James could only imagine the games and adventures his dog might be playing out in his infectiously lighthearted manner.

Reliable companionship always came in the form of a dog. Mutt, the fifth such escort to have joined him over the years, James shared certain sensations with his friend. But there were others only known to the dog. Memories of a hare, tracks of lizards, and snakes, the scent of other curious canines, sounds demanding Mutt's attention but sometimes escaping James' capacity.

James returned his thoughts to the day. News of drought, the cricket matches, the rugby, asylum seekers, ISIS, and other plights facing his proud country; with a list like that, he didn't delve into the behavior of specific politicians to renew his despair.

Humidity welling up from the sea as the cool air displaced the warmth of the day, becoming indifferent to the time consumed by the deepening dusk, he watched the world changing. Patiently watching Mutt and seeking a balance as the mixing between the external tranquility of the park and the lingering internal tension of his day continued.

Allowing a shallow smile, there was enjoyment in negotiating along the cusp of a duality and the tension that was both tangible and imagined. Even in the failing light, he could sense a tension along the escarpment, the strain between the earth and the sea. Developing conflict of approaching weather, a cooling wind that first graciously offered a reprieve from the day's stifling humidity, but then once welcomed, rudely extending it's indulgence creating the chill of an overstaying guest.

Above the grey horizon was smearing between day and night, extending into the dusk and obscuring the details of the day. Details that harbored history. Details filled with stories of this place; the present reality and the future of those who so often find themselves at the crossroads. Crossroads that deposited countless pained souls along this headland.

The history of The Gap is storied enough for most. A testament to wayward sailors caught in fierce Tasman storms, having failed to find safe harbor in Sydney. A history that always counted a rosary of lost souls. Wrecks. Ships and souls alike have floundered on the shoals below. Crashed vessels and souls alike, mercilessly against the rocks below, relieved of all their earthly expectations and inchoate dreams.

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