It's late afternoon in the estate. Friday afternoon.
All the builders are gone.
And the silence is audible.
A flap-flap of wings heralds a solitary crow, come to tap dance on the summit of the newest roof in town!
And then he's off again, across the road, to sample the Metricon. Two storeys are definitely more desirable when you're a crow, I guess.
A human scavenger pokes in the builder's skip bin with his litter stick, and finding nothing of interest, moves on to the next site.
An air of calm has descended on the street, just for the weekend.
There'll be no Bobcats or cement mixers queued up and down the street, no delivery trucks squeezing past haphazardly parked builders' utes. Dozens of building sites, each running to their own schedule, will take a coordinated time out - at least until Monday.
And in that quiet space, there will be an echo of what this place once was, and a whisper of what it is yet to become.
The last rays of sun cast long, lovely shadows in a criss-cross pattern on the walls. The light is wonderful, the breeze refreshing, and I am feeling so much at home.
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