Kids of The Red Dust

On the weekend, these local kids chased me down the beach, calling out, “Miss Jess, Miss Jess!” all the way until they reached me.

I recognized one, so I said hello and asked how she was…

… Silence.

Danger Style

Danger Style


She looked at the ground, “good.”

“That’s good, are you having a good weekend?”

“… yes.”

“I’m glad. Are you looking forward to going back to school tomorrow?”


“That’s good…. … … well it’s lovely to see you-”

Noise! All of a sudden they were all chattering at once, a little flock of pointing fingers, tapping feet and flapping mouths. They were pointing, it seems they had found something they want to show me.

A bird. A seagull.


A dead seagull actually.

“Miss Jess, where’s your camera,” they asked. “Can we have a photo?”

How could I refuse such an earnest request?

So I said yes and watched them all mash together, as little bodies do, sticking their little bellies out and holding high their smelly treasure.

The kids of the red dust.

One thought on “Kids of The Red Dust

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