woke up in a small, rambling shack, an hour out of Hobart.
slept in with my love, made tea, lit the fire and then snuggled some more.
got up (for real this time) to make coffee and a delicious breakfast of slow roasted tomatoes, eggs and toast.
sat inside a warm little haven while the wind blew and the rain beat down on the roof.
drove home, in squalls of rain and bursts of sun.
went to the shops and stocked up for the week ahead.
baked date and ginger biscuits, a chocolate slice and a casserole that transformed into a beef and stout pie half way through cooking.
gossiped over tea and donuts with two of my beautiful friends.
strolled around Battery Point on dusk, admiring the gardens and streetlights reflected on the wet roads.
ate a beautiful meal, drank a dark beer from New Zealand and went to bed feeling like the luckiest person alive.