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A Winter’s Tale

It is deliciously wintry in Canberra.  Each morning, I wake up at 6:30, a clear half hour before any skerrick of dawn.  The sky is pearly silver and pink. When I drive to work each morning, the world is either enigmatic and foggy or harshly bright and clear.  Mt Taylor, a suburb or two behind us, is veiled and robed every morning.  I love it.  I love every frosty cobweb, every shivering morning.  I can’t get enough of the beauty and peace of winter, with long, peaceful nights, silvery mornings and days of endless clear blue skies.

But there are some things I miss about the warm months.   I miss sitting on back porches, drinking and talking until sunset, which isn’t until nearly eight o’clock.  And I miss these.


Ooh, baby.  I miss the smell, the texture, the taste.  I miss the colours and the plump weightiness of them.


M discovered they’re exquisite on raisin toast with blue cheese and maple syrup.  I grew to love them with warm fresh bread and really robust cheddar or blue cheese.  Oy.  And those colours…like pomegranates, I think they are simply beautiful.   They look delicious and exotic and heavenly.  I’ve been saving these pictures for a while.




Incidentally, if you would like to see some photographs that are at least a million times better than any fig, I suggest you head over to the Gods cafe in the ANU grounds.  There is a photography exhibition on at the moment which I heartily recommend.  The excellent creature behind Cutflat is hosting his first exhibition, and I can honestly say that it is exquisite, interesting and beautiful.  Go and see for yourself.

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