Winter

It feels as if winter has finally arrived. Fog, fog and more fog.

It reminds me of T.S. Eliot's Preludes ...

The winter's evening settles down
With smells of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves across your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots ...

Except, yesterday it seemed to get dark and misty at about three o'clock. And there hasn't been the faintest puff of wind. Oh and it never seems to actually rain. OK ... I concede this is probably the wrong poem for a Melbourne winter!

Argy and Bargy need new winter clothes. One seems to be growing upward at the rate of knots and the other continues to grow, ahem ... outwards. Time to get out the sewing machine, raid my enormous stash of beautiful corduroy fabrics and make trousers. Lots of them!