this old roo and her wallydog are sitting behind the potbelly stove in their cosy lil cottage up in the central highlands.
the soft, grey sky hangs just above my roof top. the hill with the convent and the old courthouse have vanished. the neighbour's house a faint silhouette. magic silvery drizzle outside, veils of it, shifting past the windows. that's when the wombats hold their wedding processions, deep in the bush.
night temperatures are now below freezing, so we daylesford folk are decked out in layers of woolly garments looking round and chubby, with red cheeks and nose tips. 3 or 4 months of this? hmmmmm.

a fat, black cauldron of pot-au-feu is simmering gently on the iron stove. my grand meres's recipe with a chicken, piece of corned beef, marrow bones, vegies, herbs, to be shared out over the next few days. (no turtles, though).

many locals have run away up north and overseas already, daylesford winter magic wears off quickly, for sun-loving aussies. and i am still plotting my escape to europe, usa and south pacific, starting end of next month hopefully, if that rotten share market does not swallow up the expected resources....

hope you half-drowned possums up and over there have dried out by now and the weather will clear up for the olympics. st.peter is responsible for that, if you are catholic, candles should help. but then he might not listen to church-of-englanders, don't know....

time to get in more wood and pine cones from the front veranda, mustn't let the fire go out.
now, where is my lovely blackberry port i managed to hide from marauding city slicker offspring ('we know you have some, mother! hand it over!' ha, no way. make your own.)
ah yes, now i remember.
just one or two.


a lovely sunday to all.
:>)roo and wally