There is a reason why the Blue Mountains village of Blackheath is affectionately dubbed Bleakheath. Recently someone (not mentioning any names, Kim) asked me to write a winter post. So here it is.
My husband often has to venture out with the kettle to defrost the bird baths. The crimson rosellas appreciate it.
A nice warm bath.
Thanks Bob.
Of course the ice layer does have its artistic value.
Ice art
Oh my, such a cool hat!
The duck pond freezes over too.
Where are my skates?
It’s pretty chilly on Blackheath Beach
More mud and shingle than golden sand.
All the deciduous trees are bare. I love seeing the skeleton branches.
Coral Maple
Up in the village we all have our winter coats on.
Me, wearing nearly everything I own,
The Wattle Café has a wood stove burning at weekends. And cheap, hot chips!
How cosy!
No snow to speak of yet, but some years we have a heavy fall. The worst is when it comes in late spring, when the trees are in leaf. The weight of snow snaps the branches of my Japanese maples.
All things considered I rather like winter, if only for the joy of fragrant daphne in flower.
Perfect for a tiny cornucopia.
For the sill.
