Before I came up to Darwin, I took a photo of a couple of prompt cards from Catherine Deveny's prompt set, knowing that there would be a few days where I had no inspriation.
Today was one of those days.
My card today read:
“Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.” WH Auden. Discuss.
I look back at the night as one of our best. A near perfect night, one which will not be forgotten. It was always the three off us. A triumvirate of oddities. A whip smart Asian and two care-worn Gen-Xers, clinging to our youth with the tenacity of a barnacle. We’d bonded over music, a sense of the absurd and workplace politics which were far from ideal.
We’d met up this evening for dinner at our Darwin-based colleagues place in one of the inner suburbs. What we found on that night was his home patch, surprised and bemused me in equal measure. Despite his scruffy exterior, our colleague was extremely tidy. He said an ex-partner had beaten it into him. We compared notes. As a neurodiverse woman living alone, I’m on the other end of the spectrum – clean, but terribly untidy.
Our dinner was held out on the balcony. He had planned to cook for us, and had steaks in the fridge, but he had hosted a dinner party in the days before, there was plenty of biscuits and pate and cheese to eat. Paired with a couple of gin and tonics, it was about as perfect to me as we could have.
We spent the night laughing and talking about nothing much in particular. We kept the music down low, just loud enough to tune into to argue the semantics of which band was better, who did it better and the best concert.
Over the hills, there were thunderstorms. Distant thunder. Dry storms in which didn’t seem to be any rain, well at least not from where we were sitting.
The light show was incredible.
But it was the thunder that remains with me. The storms were far enough to away that the rumbles were comforting rather than scary. Omniscient, omnipotent power, but a power that would cause no harm.
We watched the storms for a couple of hours, grateful to be able to witness such splendor. Indeed, we were grateful for each other’s company. It really was a perfect night.
That was six months ago.
My friend who hosted us passed away in July.
I don’t like to think that those storms were a portent to his demise. I don’t think the storms were a warning for anything. They were just a display of the greatness that is the world and incredible beauty of the Top End in the wet season.
The thing about distant thunder is that you never know if the storm is coming your way. It’s all about the potential, and the power contained by nature.
In many ways, the thunder provides the knowledge that we are such a small part of this enormous world.
And just like when I see a butterfly I think of my niece who passed away eight years ago, I think now, when I hear the sound of thunder, I will think of my friend, and the bond we shared, and the simple things can be so life-enriching. The simple act of eating and drinking and sharing stories and the lightning and thunder tore through the sky on a humid night in the Darwin inner suburbs. It's an evening I will always cherish.
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