A late-morning ballet class, a lot of cycling, and a mid-afternoon boulder down at Burnley. I was feeling like chocolate might need to come to the rescue, and instead opted for lying on the park bench between the bouldering walls, the basin of the Burnley docks behind and above my head, water and the Yarra all around, and I was looking straight up at the underside of the freeway that runs like an oily gash alongside. The weather was holding on before breaking, and like my recent airport apron photos, there was something hypnotising in the play of light and water and the organic crawling of residue marking the flow of water on the concrete blankness.
