There was much battening of hatches and clearing of decks on the week end. We sat on the red observation couch to watch it gather and unleash its fury.
It was colourful and noisy and spectacular.
Next day butter wouldn't melt in Mother Nature's mouth as we drove up to the top of a mountain to look for the Lost Caves of Bungalow Bliss. They are still lost and we would still be looking but for having left Shorty's shoes and the water bottle behind. It was my first bushwalk since treatment. The trees began to spin above my head and when I started to hear pan pipes in the shrubbery it was time to bail.
Tall city centres always remind me of Kurt Vonnegut's "Skyscraper National Park" when I see them teetering together on their little invisible island.
I believe my father proposed to my mother on this lookout when it was more rustic and there were a lot less skyscrapers. We may take them there for a surprise coffee one day.
They need not look for the caves.
Dad's hip would not approve!
"Look gairls! Is that a cave?"