The sting of the morning cold on exposed skin.
Watching shards of rain hit the window from the cosy warmth inside.
Woollen jumpers smelling vaguely of camphor.
Breathlessness from energetically cutting and splitting firewood.
A fine film of dust on the furniture from the settling ash from the previous night’s fire.
Wisps of mist and fog slowly swirling around the valley floor.
Friendship and laughter around a blazing bonfire.
The stark bareness of deciduous trees.
Sharply crisp mornings drenched in sunlight but with no warmth.
The rich smell permeating the house from a stew bubbling for hours on the stove.
Stepping over the dog hibernating in front of the fireplace.
Finishing dinner at Bruno’s Restaurant and stepping out into the bleak black lonely street.
Staying in bed for a while longer, soaking up the warmth.
The fog of your own breath cutting through the dark night.
Hovering around the warmth of the oversized drum on a Friday night at the GNTP.
The frost thawing as the shade retreats and the sun dissolves it to mist.
Exchanging stories about the cold weather with locals in the General Store.
As spring approaches, the hesitation in lifting the pool blanket for fear of the colour of water.
Being chased by smoke from the fire pit.
The stifling warmth of the car heater.
Not needing to use the ride-on mower for several months.
Despite the tanks being low, standing under the soothing heat of the shower for longer.
The alluring freshness of the smell of citrus on approaching the lemon tree.
The wallaroos huddling together in the stark paddocks.
The biting coldness rolling across the valley as soon as the sun sinks below the hills in the mid afternoon.
Hearty dinners with red wine.
The dying embers in the fireplace late at night.
The sheer beauty of the changing seasons in the Wollombi Valley.
