A long afternoon of exploring the back streets lay ahead. This time south of Kingsford Smith drive, a large arterial dividing suburbs and whose street lamps illuminate the back veranda by night. Sunday afternoons also hold a special light, and a mood sharpened by the prospect of diminishing freedom before another working week. It makes one embrace the activity with extra effort and weave a fabric of laughter and simple acts – moment by moment. A tantrum is more easily tolerated, and when a suitably dreary patch of grey presents as a likely ground for street art, the feeling that it was meant to be prevails.
We rounded one curve from a bike path hugging a stretch of green, into another made tunnel like by dense over hanging greenery spilling over back fences on one side, and screening a large concrete culvert on the other. Then down a windy slope to where the grey walls of the underpass presented themselves. The kids dismount, swoop and prowl, flutter and fade as I add my colourful formation – an incongruous mystery. I pick up the pace chased by an encroaching shadow and only a solo jogger bares witness contributing a smiley hello to the afternoon’s proceedings. With the playtime amnesty broken by a fresh tiff, and a coolness returning to the air, we don helmets and head for home, happy to call it a day.