Friday, August 7, 2015

Friday August 7. On the fly

I thought I had it all sorted. History should have told me that this isn't the way I rock. My plans are about as stable as the writing I saw in the sky over work today - here one second, gone the next. And so it was. I ran around like a headless chook packing and planning because I had "volunteered" to drive my mother to Stanthorpe for a funeral. A six-hour round trip and an overnight stay wasn't exactly the relaxing weekend I had in mind but I knew it was important to my mum to farewell her cousin so I put my hand up. But at the last minute Uncle Philip, who had pulled out earlier due to an injury, decided he was well enough to go so I was subbed out. So I rearranged my re-arrangements and started again. I would have liked frosty country pics but the drive I am pleased to have missed out on. The closest I got to nature was the kookaburra sitting on the fence next door.

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