Shades of Green
‘Where are my thongs?’
Jenny shook her head as she said it and reminded herself they were flip flops, not thongs. She already felt like she’d lost part of her identity and didn’t want to start forgetting her language too.
She hunted amongst the dry crisp leaves which had pooled by the door but couldn’t find them. So she took a sharp breath, braced herself and then tiptoed barefoot as fast as she could to the washing line. The bare red patio bricks burnt her feet and she was glad to reach the small square of shade made by a towel flapping on the line. Although the sun had been one of the major attractions which had drawn Jenny to Western Australia, these days she tried to avoid it as much as possible. She could just about cope when it was twenty five degrees but today was one of those awful forty degree days.
The hot dry air smelt of eucalyptus mixed with washing powder and above her the towering palm trees rustled in the wind. The rainbow lorikeets screeched as they hoped from frond to frond hunting for nectar. Originally from the Eastern States these birds were unpopular with the locals, but Jenny found them both beautiful and intriguing. She’d heard that a Sydney resident, who had adored the lorikeets, had brought some over when they moved to Perth in the sixties. The lorikeets had adapted to the environment so well they were now dominating and wreaking havoc on the local parrot species. Unlike the lorikeets with their bold brazen colours, Jenny hadn’t acclimatised quite so well.
The rich blue of the sky reflected down on to the pool as the water glistened and gently lapped the sides, like a picture from a holiday brochure. However Jenny knew there was a big difference between being on holiday somewhere and actually living there. ‘You must be mad to miss the UK’ her family and friends from home had often said. Stories of how the UK was overcrowded and generally going down the pan had worried her slightly, but the pull of home just wouldn’t go.
Nearby the springy prickly grass was scattered with brown burnt patches where the reticulation hadn’t quite reached. She smiled as she thought of previous generations of migrants who had tried to recreate English style gardens in what was essentially a desert scrub. But lately things had changed and the more modern Australian garden consisted of landscaped limestone rocks and native shrubs. People were finally taking notice of the water shortage. The grass definately wasn’t greener here, just different.
The washing she had put out thirty minutes ago felt dry and hard, like cardboard. Jenny always brought it in as soon as it was dry; the sun had previously bleached too many of her clothes. But this would be the last time she would worry about that as these clothes were going straight in to her suitcase. Today, she was finally going home.