Up and down and back again...

The weekend was good. I think I stepped away from the precipice of wild idealism, wrapped those ideas up in a soft cloth and put them in the treasure box alongside other rolled up fantasies.
There wasn't much to say really, although we said it over and over on Saturday - it takes effort and these past months we've been too tired or maybe too lazy to make an effort. And I want everything to be perfect. Maybe that requires some revision on my part.

What was perfect though, was the countryside around York. We did a self drive tour around the wheat belt ghost towns - abandoned dwellings under wide, frightening skies. The weather was moody, and the landscape reared up, proof that humans are smaller, and our mark can be forgotten. It was eerie but comforting.

There weren't as many wildflowers as I had expected, having dreamed of carpets of colour, but what patches there were were impressive, Pollock-like splashes on the grey and green grass.

On Saturday night we stayed in mythical Northam. I had painted so many dream pictures of that town, since 2005. And to say it was disappointing would be an understatement. York was by far the more magical little town, utes resplendent with antennas and spotlights, big bikes, big blokes. It was beautiful. :)
Northam made me feel like Norlane back home. No pulse in that place at all.

The Shamrock hotel may have been impressive decades ago, now it was broken in its grandeur, and our champagne glasses were made of plastic. In all honesty, if the weather warms up, I shall have no need of hotels and can't wait to break out the tent handed down by Remy.

Colourful, textured nights of summer- I can't wait.

supplementary coffee required - my body clock is not yet used to the parrot wake-up call at sunrise, which is earlier each day. . .