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Apr. 14th, 2009 04:46 pmI have to say Hobart is just beautiful at this time of year.
The leaves of the street trees are starting to turn, their yellows and browns contrasting with the evergreen natives. The afternoon light is thick and golden, sliding viscously across the world.
The cool nights are wood-smoke scented, the morning's as crisp as the ripe local apples. Most days it's still warm enough for jeans and a shirt, though occasionally it'll be cool and grey, or sharp and bright with mountain snow.
The slow light licks over the old sandstone buildings along the waterfront, fallen leaves skidding along on the breeze.
It will be cold soon enough, but right now it's perfectly magical.
On days like today I feel blessed to live here, a little town pretending to be a city, caught between the mountain and the water at the southern end of the world.
The leaves of the street trees are starting to turn, their yellows and browns contrasting with the evergreen natives. The afternoon light is thick and golden, sliding viscously across the world.
The cool nights are wood-smoke scented, the morning's as crisp as the ripe local apples. Most days it's still warm enough for jeans and a shirt, though occasionally it'll be cool and grey, or sharp and bright with mountain snow.
The slow light licks over the old sandstone buildings along the waterfront, fallen leaves skidding along on the breeze.
It will be cold soon enough, but right now it's perfectly magical.
On days like today I feel blessed to live here, a little town pretending to be a city, caught between the mountain and the water at the southern end of the world.
