Last night I sat up with the quivering dog, for the second night this week, and watched the lightning storm around the house. Gallons of rain fell.
When we woke up this morning, a bit late after the drama in the sky, all seemed damp, steamy and well, although a massive branch from the ash tree had fallen and bent my baby apple tree into an interesting arch. I've propped the tree up with part of the fallen branch and it may become a permanent arrangement.
Despite the storm all the tiny apples are still on the tree. I counted them.
I spent an hour or two reading on the ruby recliner surrounded by brilliant roses and bottlebrush, and a fully recovered dog sat about with me.
When we took the dog to the park I saw that the local SES was pretty busy.
I was astonished to hear on the evening news that only five minutes drive away from us, in Sebastopol and Mt Helen, other people had been woken last night by monster hail shattering their windows and huge gum trees breaking through their houses. Winds over 190km per hour ripped off roofs.
December is a thundery season but this weather is weird indeed. Temperatures touching 40 degrees in one day, hailstones and lightning the next.
I live in Ballarat, an old goldfields town, in the central west of Victoria, but southerly in relation to the world. I love Chinese architecture, the post-goldfields towns and countryside of central Victoria, and I love the practice and the art of history. This year I'm beginning a research project on Ballarat in the 1870s.