Hugh follows me out onto the balcony. He leans on the banister, inhales the salt air, and exhales about six months’ worth of stress from the office. Compared with the dryness of Canberra, the post-storm humidity seeps into your lungs here, even in winter. The air pulses with the invisible vibrations of life and the ocean itself seems to reach over the rise, caressing your skin with its spray—pulling you toward it, irresistibly, like the moon pulls tides.
