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.  

Blue sky moment

Brief conversation over breakfast this morning while my partner was watching a video clip of Packer fighting on the weekend. The exchange went like this:
“Oh it was the Packer son who was fighting. ”
“Yes James Packer, the father’s dead. ”
“He’s looking old!”