Jersey Mac

One summer's evening in the middle of last week, we were driving home from dinner with family in town. It wasn't exactly late, but it was late for a school night. It was late for the readers and sums and rituals that have to happen before they are all three tucked up in bed.

But still, it was the most gorgeous golden summer's evening and when our farmer boy suggested we stop for a while and check on the apples, we all agreed.

So we five piled out and slowly wandered down the rows of trees.

We picked some spotty Jersey Macs for cooking, we chatted with chooks and dogs, we made daisy chains and we screamed out to frighten away the hungry, greedy cockatoos. 

And we spoke about the crazy amount of seed on the Blackwood trees this season and how a friend's father recently said that that is the Blackwood's way of telling us it's going to be really dry. That he's only seen them do this four other times in his life and they were always right. It is so very dry here right now and the thought that it will continue to be dry is crazy, scary.

But the longer we wandered the more the big stuff seemed to melt away. And there seems to be a lot of big stuff at the moment so that is saying something. And for half an hour or maybe a little bit more, there was no high school, no times tables, no fire season, no empty water tanks, no dead-lines. 

There was only the now. 

There was only us. In that perfect light for photographing.

I hope you have a bit of perfect light in your life.

I hope you have a magical week.

Mine has started out a bit tired, but I'll get there.

I'm going to make pie.

Bye!