A week and a half in this little village. The start of a new section, as my friend Susie would say.

So quiet at night. Cold so that I have to wear clothes to bed and have an extra blanket, and it’s November. The air is fresh, the water rain, local friends pop in for 15 minutes and don’t feel awkward to go again because they live close anyway. Think I’ll do the same.

Across the road is a line of poplars that point out the stars in the night sky, and remind me of them in the day. Trees all around, oaks and gums that shelter our place.

Animals are more apparent here, especially birds. I’ll have to paint them sometime, and their sounds. Am still sorting out the studio.

There have been a few odd occurrences.

During an evening walk up the Dingle we saw a peacock showing off his gorgeous tail to a farmyard chook. Poor bugger, not a chance. On the way back we spotted him ahead on the road coming towards us, tail out behind him like an opera cloak. We passed each other, him taking a cautious detour behind a shrub (perhaps he was shy), and on we went. I heard him cry out later that evening. Hope he made it home OK.

A couple of days ago a beat up old Ford, circa 1990 went sailing past the house, a foxtail and Australian flag flying from the aerial. I wondered which of the weird political parties on the last election ballot was missing a vehicle from their motorcade.

Having a late lunch on the front veranda yesterday (pita-bread pizza and half a glass of Cascade Light) I heard the first cicada of summer. I like it here.

Day before yesterday was the first trip back into town and sure enough, as Susie predicted, ticking everything off my list would have been miraculous. I didn’t look at my old house. So much happens in 11 years.