I stand still on the bank of a creek. It is quiet only in the sense that I don’t hear cars. But the honeyeaters and wattlebirds are busy, and swamp hens set a languid pace through the reed. I am transfixed.

In the shadow of river red gums, I could not help but be convinced that someone else was standing there, taken by the moment, too. The sun shimmers in the water. Time runs thin in certain places, I think.