Above are a few photos of my place here in Brisbane, all neat and ready to be sold to a lucky buyer. With the river and ferry a few steps away, Oxford Street around the corner, the pool, the glorious gardens, it’s been easy to be content here. I enjoyed decorating with 99.9 percent thrift/secondhand store finds and am happy with the look I’ve created here. But it’s time to move on and head up the mountain to ‘home’, to the support of family and old friends, and to a place with space for out of town friends to stay over, and a garden, and room for arty activities, and (oh the excitement) a clothesline!
A Letter from Home by Mary Oliver
She sends me news of blue jays, frost,
Of stars and now the harvest moon
That rides above the stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With fennel, rosemary and dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and whirling heart; -
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.
I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.
