How thin the line

Lonely morning off the reef. Photo by Aimee Jan.

I live on the edge of a gorgeous coral reef in Western Australia, over five hundred kilometres from the closest recorded COVID case. We’re a popular spot for grey nomads, backpackers, drifters, and transients. We’re a Peter Pan town, of hedonists and narcissists and influencers. There were those of us who were oblivious. Who turned up to surf breaks with five per tinny, and said, what’s happening in Italy? There were those of us who were incredulous, who formed a vigilante group, and blocked off the road into town. Just to the south, they refused to refill the gas bottles of campers; we were more courteous, stuck to giving caravans the finger, shouting at blow-ins in the surf, and glaring at anyone with inter-state plates. 
            The most terrible thing we learnt, was how swiftly fear can romance violence from us. 
            How swiftly we can swing from civility to savagery; how thin the line.