A dark wooden bridge cast dancing shadows onto the moving creek below. The bridge stretched from the base of an old, tall gum tree to the edge of a quaint dirt road. The road was normally quiet, except for when a lost tourist found themselves driving in the wrong direction.
A Crimson Rosella fluttered down from a wattle tree beside the creek and landed on the bridge rail. The sound of a foot stepping on sticks startled the Rosella and it flew off high into the sky.
A man with a camera at his right eye sighed through a smile.
‘Almost got it,’ he said. ‘Maybe next time you won’t make noise.’
A girl of about seven wearing a bright yellow sunhat, stepped out from behind the gum tree and onto the bridge.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ she said looking down at the creek. ‘What do you think lives down there?’
The man let his camera hang around his neck as he moved closer to his daughter. He, too, looked down at the creek.
‘Ooh, all sorts of things. Ducks probably, and maybe a platypus or two.’
The girl smiled and pulled herself higher on the rail so she could see even more of the creek. As she tilted her head forwards the bright yellow sunhat elegantly fell from her head and landed with a slight splash in the creek.
The girl yelled, ‘My hat.’ She ran back to the gum tree and carefully stepped down the steep bank to the edge of the creek to her father’s protests.
Her head flipped from left to right, then back to left. She couldn’t see her hat. Before her father could get to her, she walked briskly under the bridge in the direction the water was flowing. Her feet sunk a few millimetres into the soft dirt lining the creek with each step.
Amongst sticks and branches that had grouped against the creek’s edge, a piece of yellow stuck out.
‘I found it,’ the girl yelled to the man watching from the bridge. She reached out over the water, careful not to fall in. Her hand clasped the soggy fabric and she pulled. Her brows furrowed and her mouth turned into a small frown, for the hat was no longer bright yellow. The dirty water of the creek had left its mark, quite a few of them.
The girl walked sombrely back to the bridge, and up the embankment.
Her Dad was standing by the gum tree angry. ‘Never run off like that again. Creeks can be very dangerous.’
Still clutching the hat in her right hand, she started to get teary. ‘I’m sorry.’
The man gave her a hug and rung out the hat as much as he could. ‘We’ll give it a wash once we’re home.’
