Story telling from Australia
At the time this blog would normally be written I was sitting at the kitchen table, fuming about revised plans for a three-storey house at the back of ours. I grumped off to take the dog for a walk, steaming not just because of the planned development but because at 10.30 in the morning it was already 30 degrees, heading for an expected top of thirty-five.
I stomped through Callan Park, muttering darkly as I walked along a row of Brushbox trees; I kicked through leaves dropped by mature Casuarina and Eucalyptus; passed under the shadows of an old Moreton Bay fig; noticed the last flowers on the grove of jacaranda and eventually stopped at a frangipani in full bloom.
It’s impossible to stay mad in a park.
Studies from around the world have shown that walking in green spaces makes you feel better.
There are sixty hectares of green space in Callan Park and it stretches right down to the water. The Friends of Callan Park have campaigned long and hard to make sure it remains a public space.
I drove back in a better mood and passed the hardware shop on Darling Street, run by the man I’ve dubbed Mr Christmas because of his long white beard and smiling eyes.
This was the sign outside his shop.
Thank you Mr Christmas!