Australia Day Weekend

I'm home!  There's nothing quite like an Australia Day weekend in the bush to really feel like I have come home.  

Relaxing in the shade on the verandah, occasionally jumping from the deck into the pool for a round of laugh-out-loud or Stealth Marco Polo, the sound of the Hottest 100 on the radio; or 

Chewing on the medium-cooked, inch-thick, big-as-my-palm steak done on the barbie, the white cockies chattering and whistling in the gum above, as the golden sun sets, feeling the condensation pool around the cool drink in my hand; or 

Feeling the sweat accumulate on my back with the sun high above, feeling the full brunt of its strength against my skin and the heat from my hair making the 35 degree heat feel hotter, the smell and the grease of the Banana Boat sunscreen, cool grass between my toes; or

The smell of an incoming rain storm, the first cool, big drops, the intense darkness of the clouds, the penetrating heat slowly easing, the blowflies sheltering in drier areas; or

Sitting in the shade of a tree of the high sun, the click-click of the sprinkler, tasting a fresh muscato with a fresh salad, in great company, with a backdrop of green vines, big trees and rolling hills covered with yellow grass; or

Cruising down the highway with windows wide open, the rushing wind and road noise, hand on the back of Lee's chair, chatting or listening to an audio book, the crackle of the radio handset as the convoy drivers talk about existentialism (yes, actually).