It’s no secret that I love street art. It’s no secret that I love graffiti. Not a fan of the tags. Love the pieces. I love colour. I love paint. I love expression. I love the humour. I love the edgy-joy, I love youth. I love the voiceless finding a voice.

Last Tuesday it was absolutely pouring down when I was riding to work. It was so so rainy and miserable that Ekibin Park was flooding and I couldn’t cross under one of the bridges and had to back track to the road.

That’s how rainy and miserable it was.

There was practically no-one on the bike bath that morning. I was an anomaly. As was the piece of graffiti that appeared under one of the bridges. I didn’t get a good look at it, but it was nice big piece.

I was about to cycle under this particular bridge and, as I approached, I noticed a young bloke taking a photo. Of the piece.

I don’t know if he was the artist or if he was simply an admirer, but I assume it was the former. I assume he was there the night before to paint it when it was raining and he knew no-one would be around to stop him. And I’m assuming he went down the next day to capture it on camera.

We made eye contact and I felt like stopping to say “Is it yours?” when I realised he was highly unlikely to tell a 30-something stranger on a bicycle whether it was his or not. You know, just in case.

On Monday this week it was a beautiful sunny day, the kind of day where everyone is out and about. Everyone including Council workers – council workers painting over the graffiti.

They’re quick aren’t they? Council. Quick to remove eye candy. Blink and you’ll miss it. The colour. The paint. The expression. The humour. The edgy-joy, The youth. The voice.

I’m glad this bloke took the photo. Next time I think I’ll stop and take a photo too.

Seems like a waste otherwise. So transient. Like sand castles…