Today is a mild day, disturbed only by the gentlest of breezes. The mid-winter sky, which is peeking through fluffy clouds and almost-bare trees beside our living room whose dark brown branches criss-cross the window frame, is the palest of blues.
The soothing, happy tones of Play School softly fill the room. There is 15 minutes left on the program. A cup of strong chai and a single piece of well-done toast with crunchy peanut butter and dripping honey wait patiently for me on the dining table, nestled in that lovely patch of morning sunshine that graces our front room at this time of year. I pull out a chair, yet my backside barely grazes the seat before I am called: “Mum, I’m hungry!”. The wafts of fresh toast are no doubt the cause of this sudden hunger in Master E. “Right. Of course” I mutter, trudging back to the kitchen. Now he is sorted with piklets and honey and I have 10 minutes left to write, sip tea and organise my diary for the day.
Radiating pain in the joints in my hands this morning. Not fully recovered from Wednesdays cleaning efforts perhaps. Or maybe it’s Thursdays gardening spree making itself known. In any case, I promise myself to be careful today.
Morning cuppa in our little lounge-room watching the happy yellow leaves of the Chinese elm trembling then bobbing in the slightest of breezes. A superb fairy-wren flits in and around our Lilly Pilly (at least I think it’s a Lilly Pilly), her handsome friend darting this way and that, higher up in the bare Chinese Elm. Regal in his royal blue, he settles down momentarily, directly in my line of sight, and begins to groom himself elaborately; jiggling every which way, chittering constantly, all the while remaining on happy high alert.
It has rained so much lately that we keep hearing reports of tractors getting bogged and farmers scrambling to get them out as this is such an uncommon occurrence that many, to my surprise, lack the necessary equipment and the know-how.