Cicadas ring like distant alarm clocks. Frogs thrum. Fruit bats swoop overhead and the lush grass is scattered with headily scented frangipani.
I'm revelling in our evening walks at present- the balmy breeze, the possibility of possums or perhaps a green tree frog. We always see scores of cane toads, staring at us accusingly before hoping away from the Sprocket's eager hands. The moon has been full, the sky scattered with stars. My Poppet and Sprocket have been walking with us, their hands warm and small in our own. This time last year we walked them in the pusher, I would sing lullabyes or my Beloved and I would talk. We would return to the house with our little ones asleep and carry them through to bed. Now our little ones steps are light as they skip by our side, their eyes keen as we observe the nightscape, enjoying the cool.
We've been up in Queensland for a week now, enjoying a tropical Christmas with vast quantities of prawns (I abstained - they still have eyes,) pavlovas and champagne (I definitely did not abstain!) and the ever present smell of mosquito coils and sunscreen. I still felt a little off-kilter; after three decades of Christmas following one routine I'm still accustoming myself to my Beloved's traditions. This is where both my little ones spent their first Christmases...(sigh, sweet nostalgia) but... well, I missed my mummy and daddy down in Melbourne!
But... I do feel so lucky to be able to lay claim to two distinct Christmas festivities. So lucky that my little ones have so many houses they feel to be 'theirs', so many people who love them unconditionally.
I'm joining with Maxabella at 52 Weeks of Grateful to give thanks for family, for belonging and for the lovely balmy evenings of the tropics.