Another angle on a beautiful Tumbarumba sunset.
A quiet sunset passes almost unnoticed, fading into the background with a whisper of gold as the party carries on.
I am still reflecting. The picture is not always clear. Sometimes we need not look, but rather interpret, remember, imagine.
Autumn is for leaves, deep reds and deeper oranges, and everywhere change comes slithering by…
We push open the cracked door, and listen to it complain as rusty hinges bite. The greenhouse is old, dusty; plants are spilling over their baskets reaching for the ground. After a few minutes, I look outside; the sky is gone. So are the hills and the trees, lost in a thick, damp fog.
It’s as though we have skipped a season, time moving faster outside than here with us. But that’s okay: I’m warm, I’m dry, and I’m with you.