Sarah and I took a trip to Perth today - just to get out of town
and clear our heads of the city wits. 'Twas good indeed. We
actually even met up (unexpectedly) with our good friend
Aaron who popped out of a local watering hole as we walked
by and embraced us with a warm hug,
I know I've been pretty silent about it thus far but I'm still
wrapping my head around/dipping my proverbial toes into
the depths of Joel Plaskett's new triple disc. I should have
something solid to say about it soon.
There's something about a drive to the country that is
mystical and endearing to me. The absent fields make me
think of things to come. The wheat and hay lies in bundles,
ready to be used. I am not a farmer but I've always had a link
to farms through my family. The Stevenson Farm was a place
my family used to spend a good chunk of time when I was
a young buck. It's on the way to Constance Bay - I think
the house is still there but I looked for it last summer and
couldn't find it.
There is a complacency that I despise about the bunker
mentality of *some* country-folk but beyond that, it's
always there. When the city is chaotic and filled with lights
and spinning disaster, the country is waiting.
It's always the same.
