The robins are here, the swallows are gone. The season is on the turn.
On my way to check the lambs I count four red breasted sweets on the top wire of the fence. Welcome back, though it’s so dry that dust sprites rise from beneath Frank’s hard black hooves. Not a cloud above me, the sky a swelling blue. Out in the paddocks the sheep are the same colou…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Sit Spot to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.