Under the Bridge.

For three and a half years, Em and I lived 70kms out of Melbourne on 5 acres with a vegie patch and bird song in a little house that was built in 1855 with a veranda on two sides. We got up 5.45am every week-day and took the train to work - a two hour return trip. On weekends, friends came up and we did - pretty much nothing... kids played in the yard, we sat and talked and drank wine and the smell of gum trees and bbq was divine.
These days we live in Yarraville - it takes about 22 minutes to get to work - and that's on the train. There's cafes and a cinema and a bookshop right around the corner. I can buy Martha Stewart at the local newsagent - that's big smoke for you.
I really miss the country but the city is for me. Last night we took Toby for a walk near The Bridge. Sometimes it feels like we live under the West Gate Bridge - we don't but it's kind of in our back-yard - along with the petrol tanks which have their own kind of beauty. It was such a lovely sunset last night. I love autumn - the light is all sepia and nostalgic and in puts me the mood for books, blankets, cooking and old movies.