Intertextuality #3

Intertextuality #3

[mp3] Blackbird Blackbird :: Sunspray

The sea is so flat and cerulean that clouds seem to founder in it. Planing through their reflections Fox feels more skybound than waterborne as he bears in toward the lagoon. 

Nothing moves ashore at White Point. There's only this prevailing painterly stillness. Deserted beach. Norfolk pines immobile. And boats languishing at their moorings. 

Throttling down across the seagrass flats he feels watched but he knows he's home free-- there's nothing to be caught with, no fish, no lobsters, no abalone. He cuts his motors and tilts them to glide in to the shallows. His wake folds on itself like poured treacle. He thinks of the curve of her neck. Smells saltbrush, pigface, iodine. The world feels becalmed and dreamy. 

Tim Winton, Dirt Music (2001)