The new office's windows overlook a courtyard of golden yellow autumn trees with a hedge of gardenias. It reminds me of Paris. It will look bleak in winter, but at least the view will change, unlike the eucalypts outside our previous location.
Whispy white cirrostratus herald the grey and red tinged cloudbank approaching from the west. A dramatic sky, though one that will likely not bring needed rain for this parched city. I imagine that I am in one of those aircraft ascending into the clouds, bound for destinations many hours away.
During such evenings, when the sky is more interesting than the land below, I long to journey away, to set off on another adventure to a distant land. I look south, towards the airport, searching for planes curving upwards, northwards. Instead I see a 747 floating down, at journey's end.