Because it was starting to become a nice day, intermittently at least (such was the Melbourne way), Rona decided to take the long way home - to whit, walking. There was a serene stillness in the air, a Friday stillness - everyone was still at work, is what Rona guessed it meant. She'd stumbled into one of the occasional pockets in the city, between major roads, where there was no traffic, and when the wind didn't blow the very stillness of the world seemed to carry her floating from point to point and walking was no effort. Even the occasional rumble of a bus was more like the buzzing of a bee in this peaceful atmosphere.

Rona turned a corner in a spirit of exploration and was immediately confronted with a campaign of bunting. Somebody had been up all night decorating their house in all manner of streamers and ribbons and balloons, black, white, and red, and central to the display, stuck on the inside of the house's front window, was a two-page poster extracted from the newspaper: Saints vs. Pies, 2010. Taped in the same window, just beneath the poster, were a series of pages flaunting an alternating black and red parade of letters, one letter per page, obviously printed from the occupant's home computer: GO SAINTS!

The Grand Final was on in two days, the annual ritual that Rona could never participate in, no matter how long she lived in Melbourne: the A.F.L. bug hadn't bit yet, not after all these years, so Rona supposed it never would. Still, it was interesting to see such fervent support for St. Kilda, such a long way from that part of the city. All the way here on the other side of the river. Rona remembered an Asterix comic she'd read as a kid, in which a village had been divided by a great chasm: may as well call that chasm the Yarra.

She understood the peace now: it was the anticipation of spring, it was the end of winter, but most significantly it was the reverent hush before that great event that marked the cusp of the two, Melbourne's sporting equinox: the A.F.L. Grand Final. Too much excitement to be spent in the days beforehand: the city was tense with anticipation, most especially those residents in Collingwood and St. Kilda, this year's two fortunate teams (one soon to become so deeply unfortunate). The silence in the city was the silence before the roar on, to use the phrase Rona had heard spoken by commentators and everyone else in the media and just about anyone with an opinion, every one of them decked out in team colours and smiles, 'That one day in September'.