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The dying days of summer

This photo was taken in the dying days of our very wet summer and is published here just to let you know I am taking you off for a wet weekend camping in Blayney with the view to ticking off the historic towns around it. I hope you are not too tired of town spotting.

Blayney is to the west of Bathurst so the terrain is slightly less hilly and more open than the towns I have taken you to recently but not so far west as the big flat sheep and wheat country.


  1. I'm thrilled to ba taken on a wet weekend with you because I can watch from my dry warm study chair.

  2. Absolutely not, Joan! Keep on posting them. Wonderful image.

  3. I love the light in this one!

  4. Oh dear, never think that we are bored with your images, just that we are overloaded with our own issues, and will catch up in due course. I am learning sooo much about my own state from your meanderings ...


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The end

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If you are interested follow me over there.  I will still be Sweet Wayfaring and collecting Royal Hotels.  The delights I discover along the way will appear together with my gardens and towns where I live.

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Having finished the circuit at the zoo we settled down for a nice lunch at the cafe. This chirpy little blue wren came close to our table while his brown wife Jenny jumped playfully on the grass. Nesting swallows swooped in an out of the rafters.
Musing:The Blue Wrens and the Butcher Bird by Judith Wright
"Sweet and small the blue wren
whistles to his gentle hen,
"The creek is full, the day is gold,
the tale of love is never told.
Fear not, my love, nor fly away,
for safe, safe in the blackthorn-tree
we shall build our nest today.
Trust to me, oh trust to me."

Cobwebs they gather and dry grass,
greeting each other as they pass
up to the nest and down again,
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They seek and carry far and near,
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until that crystal note they hear
that strikes them dumb and holds them still.

Great glorious passion of a voice--
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