wintry

Four years ago on the Queen's birthday long weekend our seaside suburb was lashed by torrential rain and the wildest of winds. Daniel and I had just moved into this house, I was six months pregnant with Che and we didn't own a heater. Not that the heater would have made much difference because we were without power for three days. I remember sitting on the couch, watching the fifty-year-old gums sway and bend, wishing I could make myself a big bowl of pasta.

This weekend hasn't been quite so bad. We still have power, we have the warmth of a heater and a well-stocked fridge and pantry. But the rain has been persistent, keeping us indoors and rugged up. Our street is the perfect representation of our winter; wet, mossy, gradually becoming more bare. And I wish I could venture out into it, but the thought of getting soaked and coming home with muddy shoes (if I owned a pair of Hunters it would be a different story) isn't so appealing.

So while the wind howls and the clouds loom I'll watch from the window and hope that soon the sun will return.

Ps. Hello to new readers who have ventured here from far and wide...it's lovely to meet you.