Images of a contemporary landscape
As the Central Coast and Newcastle Line goes over the Hawkesbury, those with a window seat in the top carriage, or one on the left of the bottom carriage, can look down into the river and catch a glimpse of the jellyfish. Few do.
They are suspended in varying shades of blue and brown and green, depending on cloud cover, the angle of the sun, and whether it’s recently rained. For years I’ve glued my forehead to the glass as the train rattles over the bridge. The water veils them, wrapping them in a haze, and often ricochets the sun’s glare back up to blind me. My eyes can only sometimes pierce the dazzling murk.
When I see them, it’s my instinct to assign them significance. I message friends with news of the “good omen” I’ve witnessed, a sign that the day will be as lovely as it often is.
The river is tidal, slurping them up from the ocean and spitting them out again daily. The jellyfish, subject to the moon’s whim, don’t seem to mind.