October 18, 2009
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!)