From the bus stop

If someone had told me, when I was young, that I would one day leave the cool northern hemisphere climate, my birthplace, I wouldn’t have believed them. 

Why would I want to trade in grey, cloudy skies, and drizzly rain that clings to your clothes and hair?

This morning I find myself sitting at the bus stop. Across one of the busiest roads in Sydney I see: a blue sky; lush green leafed trees; and a palm tree.  

5 thoughts on “From the bus stop

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