It’s hot. The run off from the swampy on the roof fills a bucket under the the eave of the house. Every drop captured. Every drop precious.

It’s nearly full. Time to water but not every plant can handle this almost brackish Adelaide water.

Under the verandah with a glass of cold water in hand I watch each drop fall. I watch the shape, transient, fluid, rise, splash and slump.

Like a stranger in a strange land I see the shape of water.