An Island in Winter

On an island in a bay we have a house. Not a fancy house. Nothing grand, modern or showy; just a comfy, modest, built-on-a-shoestring beach house.

At the end of the road where our beach house stands, only a few hundred feet from our front door, is bushland...

And through this bushland lies a path...
And if you follow the path ...shhh....you must not wake the sleeping bunyip...
You will find a beach; a stormy beach...

I have loved this place for as long as I can remember. For me its a small piece of paradise in an otherwise very difficult world. It's best in winter. In winter it's peaceful, quiet; no summer holiday makers or bathers. The only companions are the wild animals and birds.

From the lounge room window we see the the clouds as they drift in from the ocean... and hear the winds, often icy, blowing straight from the antarctic.

The sunsets in the evening, even during winter, are magical...

There is nothing better, on a cold winters day, than to sit by the heater with a hot cup of freshly made coffee, a spinning wheel or some knitting, and a lap full of cat.