Friday night at our place looks a lot like this. It smells of the open fire and of freshly mown grass. Friday night sounds like farmer Bren chopping away at a piece of Blackwood, like Indi practising the guitar, like the kookaburras laughing at us from high up in the tree-tops and like the girls giggling at me rushing around taking photos before we lose the light. Friday night at ours tastes like spelt spaghetti with freshly made pesto and it feels a bit chilly since the sun has disappeared. Friday night tonight is a bit of a relief, a bit of an exhale, the second last late night before school really starts.

Friday night here is lovely, I hope yours is too.

xxxx