A couple of times a year, the usually placid Barron River is swollen by a tropical deluge, and becomes a swirling brown torrent.
So also today.
About 300 millimetres of rain fell in the last two days, and the catchment was already sodden from the 500 millimetres that fell earlier in the month.
The only road into and out of our little village is cut.
Nowhere to go.
Nothing to do.
All day to do it in.
It’s like not having FaceBook. A sea of time and opportunity opens up.
Groups of locals stand around near the water to knowledgeably discuss time and tide.
Whose will be the first vehicle to be washed off the road?
School’s out, no teachers today.
The one and only shop in the village does a roaring trade.
Couples and families are strolling, seemingly aimlessly, inspecting the water.
Will it come into the house?
Slowly the tide that held back the torrent from the mountain is dropping.
One or two risk the road.
Soon the bus will come again, and life will be as it was.
I’m sticking to it.