Here is a letter to the editor copied from the August 22, 2009 edition of the much-beloved-by-me POST Newspaper. Clearly, the author loves poetic imagery, alliteration…and her hometown of Subiaco, Western Australia.
Subi sleeps now—silently she sighs for sunrise. Soon her slumber will end for another night, her eye will open and the solitary silent stranger will cease stalking the streets.
The precursor of Subiaco’s day sounds before dawn with hundreds of POST newspapers hitting verandas and, like the sun, the sounds of Subi will slowly rise and the day begins.
Saturday in Subi sees cyclists arrive like parrots that crave coffee. In their bright colours they circle in chattering, swoop around a café and settle. A cacophony of coffee prattle fills the ears that pass by.
Shoppers slide by these pools of painted parrots. They saunter past in their ones, two and threes. Where they go is unimportant; presently they are in Subi—once they leave they will know it is better to be here.
The cyclists and shopper witness the next arrivals—the buggy brigade. Like bumpercars, they are of all colours—so many shapes, sizes and idiosyncracies.
Then come the cars—the silver Mercedes that never moves is here, so too that yellow sports BMW placed on Subi’s favourite street.
On such a day and on such a street there is a gentle flow of Fords, fastbacks and flatbeds. They pass up and down the street for themselves, but the last pass is for Subi.
Like a great flood, colours wash the streets of our Subi this afternoon. A zoo of spectators descends, converging on the spectacle at the Stadium.
Lifting and falling as a seesaw, their screams tell everyone that football plays in Subi today.
As the sun fades and night beckons, Subiaco’s giant trees stretch their fingers towards heaven, bringing us who are lucky enough to live here closer to a heavenly dream.
Heytesbury Road, Subiaco