Thirty-Five – TwoHearts
We reach the top of a ridge and slide downan embankment into a hollow. A soft mattress of native grass issurrounded by wattles and stringy bark saplings. It’s a naturalfortress with turreted views in all directions. The lights of thecity like fallen stars twinkle to the west and south. To the northand east real stars are eyeing us. We climb out of the hollow acouple of times and walk around the perimeter to make sure we arealone. The traffic on the Brooker sounds a bit close for comfortfrom the top, but the hollow creates a sound barrier.
Michael props his bag against a rock andspreads his beach towel on the ground. The wind occasionally gusts,parting and blowing branches in all directions. The moon intrudesmomentarily.
I stand in the middle of the hollow. Michae
