My love is like a tweety bird,
It sits up high anon -
With furly wings and purty things
I wish I had got done.
It's time I know to see the light
I'm almost out, have lost the fight
To post a day
There's just no way
Weekend again has taken flight.
My love is like a whirly bird
Of thought and colour and song!
To draw and dream and spin a wheel
And run around in the sun.
I've been out on my bike today, checking out the streets and smelling the jasmine in old gardens caught in roadside glimpses as I swander by (yes, that's a word. It's for cycling slowly and looking at the sky!). I saw a house that looked like it came straight from Yorkshire, plomped down in the middle of Richmond. Tall gables for that snow we so often get in Melbourne, oh and the sleeting rain. High blue stone walls and green-sashed windows. I need to go back to take a photo.
My friend is house-sitting and the house-sat cat tried to eat my sewing bag, too. Much careful investigation and sniffing. Is this a suggestion I ought to wash it? (I might - now!)
4 comments:
my Mum's cat has this thing for bags...whenever I go there she goes absolutely nuts and rubs up against my bag, chews the straps, purrs, is in some sort of kitty rapture. It's a bit weird! Maybe she can smell the chickens? Or maybe it's the fabric, I don't know!
Reminds me of a Steve Martin poem (which has made an appearance in many of his films):
Pointy bird, oh pointy pointy
anoint my head, anointy nointy
Hey Bev, great photo... Oh, I forgot to say the other day that if you need to sell any more cookbooks, I can buy some more to use for Chrissy presents.. let me know!!
Hi Serena, yes, we have a few left of the second printing, and you are always welcome! I'll drop you an email.
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