Looking up on the street where I live. Well, the street next to the street where I live, but close enough. Close enough and bold enough - such a beautiful burst of colour to walk by when all else in Sydney is turning and falling as autumn rolls in. Sydney doesn't do autumn very well. In Sydney, autumn means piles of leaves at the edge of the street and warm days giving way to bleak, slowly breaking mornings that catch your breath and remind you to bring an umbrella. The Adelaide Hills, the hills of my heart and my childhood, are a full world apart from the grey of Sydney. Sydney seems to pass over autumn and land straight on winter, while the Hills give themselves over to the season wholly and spectacularly. My hometown doesn’t so much shine in autumn as it all out glows. Bursting, rolling, dewy hills so alive with colour you have to wonder how the dry heat of summer ever managed to stifle them. The red, yellow, orange and gold of the trees bring to mind John Donne poems and over-done vintage oil paintings.
It really is a sight to behold and I'm hoping for some charm late next month, when I fly home for a cheeky weekend of lattes, bottles of red and hugs from my oldest friends.