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.
Of course the ice layer does have its artistic value.
The duck pond freezes over too.
It’s pretty chilly on Blackheath Beach
All the deciduous trees are bare. I love seeing the skeleton branches.
The Wattle Café has a wood stove burning at weekends. And cheap, hot chips!
All things considered I rather like winter, if only for the joy of fragrant daphne in flower.