Hello, Editor Des here.
Well it’s springtime where I live in the Blue Mountains. All the flowers are out and the birds start singing so early they wake me up while I’m still dreamin’.
Does he have to have breakfast so early?
I thought it might be a nice time to go on a little wander up to the village. Pauline (my elderly guardian) says I should learn to appreciate the beauty around me. She can be so annoyingly pretentious sometimes.
I can sort of see what she means though. Even the grass verges have their little delights. Look.I could make a daisy chain for my girlfriend Milly. Except that I can’t be bothered.
Pretty little things.
Past the duck pond. Some of the wood ducks are such show-offs.
I could do that!
Here I am around the corner in the park It’s called Memorial Park to honour the soldiers who fought in the war. Well I’m at the wisteria pergola. It’s very pretty, isn’t it? I feel I enhance it.
Smells delicious.
The giant rhododendrons are nearly out. It’s the festival this weekend and I’m going. Say hello if you see me.
They are too tall for me to climb
Up near the top gate I sneaked in to see if Mr Bowerbird was at home. But he wasn’t.
Nobody home.
He was up in the canopy, looking around for lady bowerbirds I reckon. They like more than one girlfriend. I doubt if Milly would stand for that….haha.
Handsome chap
So there’s a cherry tree beside the bower, but Mr Bowerbird doesn’t seem to know it’s there. That’s pretty strange, because he really loves fruit. Anyway I pinched a few. I’ll get Milly to make some jam if she knows how to.
xx
They’re a bit sour.
Here are some of the azalea shrubs by the gates. Impressive eh? I had to be careful not to get bitten on the B– by a bee.
In the pink!
Poppies planted by the council, sort of on the corner of Govett’s Leap Road and Wentworth Street.
They make me feel happy.
It’s quite a steep climb up to the shops. I had a little bit of lunch lunch while I edited my photos.
Mmmm….mango.
Egg sanger!
That’s it folks, the end of my walk. I hope you enjoyed coming with me….so to speak.
IMPORTANT UPDATE – Pauline Conolly is not elderly. And no, she did not force me to write this. Oh dear, so hard for me to type that.
