My Place

My place used to be a wasteland, a neglected flood plain along the eastern edge of the Ammunition Factory in Footscray. Now, it is a magnificent lake surrounded by thriving wetlands and subject to the tidal moods of the Maribyrnong River.

Whether gunmetal grey or sparkling sapphire, Edgewater Lake spreads out like a blanket, an impressive playground for the local birds. Every day is different; the water is never still. At low tide, the bluestone rocks along the bank are visible all the way down to the mudflats. Other times, the water is so high it licks the grass on the edge of the walking path.

Sometimes the lake is a massive mirror, reflecting the clouds, trees and the black-beaked cormorants that sit on the jetty. When they stretch their wings, they look like little evil witches. If the wind is really strong, tiny white waves ripple across the surface. Once, I even saw a seal.

What doesn’t change is the weight that lifts from my chest every time I look across the water’s vast, unbroken surface.

Twenty years ago, in England, I stood looking over the North Downs. A woman beside me sighed and said, ‘How can anyone be depressed when they look at that?’ I didn’t understand what she was talking about. I do now. There is something about the quiet beauty of this wide expanse of water that unclogs my brain. I have time to untangle my thoughts. I can breathe. My batteries are recharged.