I was waiting for the rain. It had not rained for a long time. I was bored and I wanted it to rain.
Forty-one days. That's how long our water tank has been sighing every time Dad turns on the tap. Every afternoon the clouds gather over the hills, take one look at us, and wander off. Rude.
I got the window seat on the train. I looked out the window and saw lots of things. It was fun.
Window seat. Finally. Three whole trips I've spent squashed next to my brother's elbow, and today the window is all mine. Paddocks, sheep, a water tank with somebody's name painted on it. Wait, was that a camel? Nobody else is looking. Fine. My camel, then.
I am a park bench and nobody notices me. People sit on me every day. I feel sad because nobody ever says thank you.
I have held up eleven thousand sandwiches, two marriage proposals and one very large dog who should not have been on the furniture. Not one of them said thank you. That's fine. I'm a bench. Benches are good at waiting.