Dust to dust (Kerry)

Write about your experience of life as a hermit

Peggy wrapped her cardigan more tightly around her middle and reached for the bucket behind the shed door. She had been aware of the wind during the night rattling the branches of the big eucalypts in the yard but now as the sun came up she was surrounded by an eerie orange glow. The cold wind had carried tonnes of red dust from out west. Peggy could taste the dry earthy grit on her tongue. It reminded her fleetingly of what it might be like to be dead, lying exposed in a grave and to have spadefuls of dirt thrown in on your face.

The whole world was eradicated. Peggy couldn’t see the dog kennel. Even the clothesline just outside the fence was only dimly visible through the choking haze. She felt as though she was the only person left on earth.

She recalled when she had first come out here, over twenty years ago. It was just after Jim had died. She was desperate to get away from all her well-meaning friends who insisted on making sure she was all right, checking that she wasn’t lonely, wanting to keep her busy. After a few months, Peggy made the decision to move out to the farm. She felt so stifled in town. She just wanted to be alone. Out here she had no phone. The mailman didn’t come. There was no address. She loved the solitude. She had everything she wanted.

She picked up the bucket and filled it from the tap. The sound of the water splashing into the bucket seemed to be dulled in the thick air. Even the birdsong was strangely absent from the morning garden. Peggy made particular note of the squeaking gate as she carried the bucket of water out to the dog. The familiarity of the sound settled her growing disquiet. The joyful barking of the dog as she approached was a balm to her nerves. She loved the old dog and would have found her hermit’s existence less bearable without his companionship. He seemed to be eager to wash the dust from his tongue as he lapped the water noisily. When he was satisfied she let him off his chain and he trotted along beside her as she completed her morning chores.

It was when she stooped to enter the chook-house that she noticed a strange claustrophobia. The air seemed denser, less easy to breathe. The hens were agitated and fluttered nervously at the back of the shed. Peggy stopped. Perhaps they were concerned about the dog. But he had stayed outside the door and was lying quietly waiting for her. She realised she had an overwhelming urge to lie down herself, on the straw inside the chook-house. Even just to sit on something. The air felt like soup now and she found herself breathing rapidly. She needed water. She splashed some awkwardly onto her face from the bottom of the bucket before slumping heavily onto the ground. For a moment, before she lost consciousness, she was aware of a pervading sense of peace, of oneness with the world, of being exactly where she should be in the universe.

It was a long time before the dog moved from the chook-house. Eventually he rose and began the long walk into town.