March 1958, Adaminaby

• Jessica Kriticos, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2013

Cre-eak, cre-eak. The branches of the old, strong gum tree groan in the breeze that whips the leaves the same way it does my hair. Instinctively, I clutch tighter. If I fell, I would probably break my leg. Luckily for my legs, I never do.
I gaze around, entranced by the rugged beauty of the wizened old snow gums. A butterfly flitters past my head, a splash of vibrant colour in a world of austerely elegant olives and greys. I smile at the wedge-tailed eagles wheeling above in a stately dance as old as time. I stare at them until the other trees obscure my view, whereupon I glance down at my battered wristwatch, a present from my last birthday. The hands proclaim a worrying truth: I’ve been out here for more than half an hour.
I sigh and clamber down. A bad-tempered magpie scowls at me as I slink out of the copse of eucalypts and down to our house, the second-closest to the secret copse. From ten metres away on any side, the stand of gums is invisible, situated where a landslide took out a slab of earth as wide and as tall as our house.
Slinking into the front door, I catch the delicious scent of fresh baklava* wafting in from the kitchen. Mum rolls her eyes, exasperated, as I take a piece of the koulourakia sitting on a platter on the table. Koulourakia are one of the reasons I love Easter. Well, that and the fact that we get two days off school. Yippee!
Once I have finished eating my biscuit, I run up the hallway to my room and fish around under my bed before pulling out a muslin-wrapped parcel. I wear my old Greek shawl tonight, with its beautiful colours of turquoise blue and green like a forest pool. Despite my wish to be more Australian, I like the way it makes me feel closer to my ancestors and to Greece. It is old and thin, but still my most precious and beautiful possession. Sometimes, when I close my eyes and breathe deeply, I can hear goat bells and smell the salt of the waves on a warm breeze. Then the feeling is gone, like dry leaves blown away in the wind.
I change into a light dress that comes to just past my knees, courtesy of another of Mum’s old-fashioned tastes. But for once, I don’t mind having to wear a clean dress. The rippling amaranthine colour of the floaty dress complements the shawl perfectly, as do my white stockings and shiny patent leather shoes. I glance at myself in the mirror while taming my windblown hair and realise that I actually look pretty. I smile loosely at the girl in the polished mirror before hurrying down the corridor with its floor of polished wood, careful not to scuff my shoes. Or the floorboards, for that matter. Laughing, I skip into the kitchen. Right now, life couldn’t be much better.