Sunday, January 4, 2015


A look at the calendar tells all. Six days home last month. 
Oh, the places these feet went. 
                                     Were rained on, in five suburbs in one day,
                                                                                                    Sunburned in.

From places we felt outofplace, 
                                          where things were just a little too neat, a touch too trendy, 
                                                                                                                          but the wine was crisp as the ocean air



to surprising places, oasis', we didn't know before
                                                                    where we felt calm, and ate the dianella berries, 
                                                                                                                                 and watched the leaves in their dance, 
                                                                                                                                                                                and the angophoras splendid in their new orange skins. 


This week, I welcome a new baby into my life, and am overjoyed in spite of myself.



A wedding, a wedding, secret and sacred. 
                                                       We country girls, even myself, do love a wedding. 
                                                                                             We feel most useful, cooking and calming and fluffing and organising.
Introduced to Stanwell Tops, I am a little in love myself. 
                                                            Where the new fern leaves grow pink, and the cat birds come and eat from your plate.


Then, in Manly, the weather caused the beach to become weed, 
                                                                                        as high as my  knees
                                                                                                                     and only Shelley Beach was saved.
And I made collections in my box of light, and pressed samples as though I had never seen seaweed before. 

Hot chips on the beach, seaweeds in a plastic bottle, talented buskers.


Christmas Eve brought the most beautiful light over the harbour, as I watched some near ones fall further in love.


And I spent time with my church, of flowers, wind and waves, after the obligatory Christmas Eve service.


I am always sorry to leave the sea...


But just as glad to see my country come into view on the long drive home. 

And moreso to see the bouquet of herbs that have not died in the heat and garden of neglect this month. 
Such bounty made a beautiful meal or three.