I will return to regular observing of the Germans in due time. For now, given it is arschkalt, and the roof tiles of our neighbourhood are powdered with frost – in a manner that would look fetching if you are into pretty winter pictures – I feel it only appropriate we stay focused on the summer that was.
One morning at Macmasters Beach, we were sitting around drinking our coffees and chewing the fat, die Lüdde rolling around on the carpet, delighted by the constant coos of attention, when my mother suddenly yelled, ‘DOLPHINS!’ We rushed to the balcony, SG whipping the cover off the camera, my Mum peering through one lens of the binoculars because she, like me, finds it easier that way.
And there they were, a little pod of around twelve, drifting closer and closer to a quiet shore. It was overcast and not many people were out, just a few surfers and a family kayaking. The pod moved closer and closer in, their fins something I probably would have had a heart attack upon spotting if I were in a kayak out there. The kayakers paddled closer, and for a minute or two it looked like there’d be some sort of in the wild encounter. But the dolphins ducked underneath, popped up the other side, and continued on their way, back out to sea.