SUNDAY / 45

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The sea, the sea. Something about it that, as I get older, seems more and more to amaze me. I seem to be more drawn to it, more calmed by it, more at ease by the coast than ever.

I love being away and waking early, before the house stirs, shoes on and out the door down the little path that is hidden between two houses over the road from our rental, down over the hill to the cliffs. Gerroa is green rolling hills right down to the rocks of the sea, and I was passing through long grass and wild flowers till right when I wasn't, till it opened out to large stones and rough sand. A couple of surfers were out, walking across the rocks then timing their immersion between the crashing waves. 

By the the I got home the others were up and drinking coffee and getting ready for breakfast. By the time we were done, the clouds had passed and it was nothing but glorious blue skies and an hour of luscious swimming at Seven Mile beach before the drive home. By the time I got home my day was made. 

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.