All Our Shimmering Skies

by Trent Dalton

Molly knows the secret to a long walk. Never think about the destination. Just think about the air in your lungs, the motion of your arms and legs. There is a rhythm to it, and once you have found it that rhythm can tick-tock through time forever. She loves the great riddle of walking. The more you take the more you leave behind: footsteps. And she looks behind her to see her footsteps stretching as far as she can see along the road that winds back through ironbark borders. Don’t think of the destination. Think of the red-tailed black cockatoo up there in the stringybark, with scarlet panels beneath its tail flaps, like fire is fuelling its take-off. And marvel at the way it flies through the sky. It doesn’t fly like falcons and kites fly; instead its wings work hard, like the bird is rowing through the sky, rowing upstream through air.