roll up! roll up!

Today I've been inspired. I will pack my socks and jocks into my suitcase and head for the hills, I will run away and I will join the circus. I don't care how far I have to walk, or how many nights I'll spend sleeping under the cover of an old bush tree, I will find a travelling troop and follow them from town to town.

The circus will accept me into its fold, with caring but rough arms placed around my shoulders. I will be  wrangled into the warmth of the Big Tops wind breaking walls. The acrobats will fly from the ceiling on colorful ribbons and scoop me up, flinging me into the air. As I go tumbling towards the bouncy roof of the tent I am sure I will soon be plummeting into the shiny hard wood floor, but I am happy in this precise moment, when I feel as though I am flying, not falling.

A group of rowdy looking boys dressed in colourful cloths cheer me on from the ground, while hairy ladies and slick looking men break character and smile jovially towards me as they go about their tasks. I see them and I know that I have made my way home.

It will be a boho, chai tent, fire loving, clownless kind of circus that only exists in my dreams.

But that's exactly where I'm going to find it!






Thanks Peter Alexander for your run-away-to-the-circus inspiring new collection! And for making my circus joining dreams come true, and very comfortably too I'm sure!


(L)

flutter byes

There's a little butterfly at my desk today, he's keeping me company.

He saw that I was lonely as he fluttered by my office, he was smelling flowers and twirling in the sun and gave it all up to pop in and say hello. He has traffic lights on his wings and love in his antennas and as he flies around my desk I'm reminded of cold mountain breezes and long lazy days in front of the fire.

He and my eyes are a dancing a dance. It's the Charleston Box-step and my eyes know all the moves. 

(L)

winters blews

My boots trudge along the crunchy ice laden grass as I make my way to the top of the hill. My coat blocks me from the coldest winds but my nose is an Eskimo explorer and has no shelter.
Every now and then the wind blows and small speckles of frozen water crash against my face as I burrow deeper down into my scarf.

This is winter.

This is Armidale.

For the majority of an Armidale winter you cannot feel your fingers or toes. Maybe they have run off somewhere warmer; to sun bake on a Hawaiian beach or sip cocktails at a Balinese bar. This can make walking and texting rather tricky.

You must layer. My layers are calculated. Socks, tights, socks, pants, singlet (tucked into tights) undershirt (tucked into pants) shirt, cardigan, jumper, scarf, coat, gloves, beanie. Sometimes you don't see your legs for weeks and weeks, as they have been burried under cotton. When eventually they do brave the cold and pop out they will be much hairier than your expected (the kinds of things that scare small children in the night) and you will tuck them safely away, back into their cottony home. Keep them warm and keep them safe from those who wouldn't understand.

Drink tea, read near a fire, cuddle your puppy dog... these are the things you must do if you want to survive it.




(L)