March 1 



!T has been a wonderful February. Instead of four weeks of 

 steaming muggy days and stifling nights, we have had long 

 breaks of cool, fresh days, and nights when a blanket was a 

 comfort, with just a few odd days here and there to remind us 

 of what a Sydney February really can be. 



And yesterday the last day of the month broke in a thick 

 white mist that shrouded the world in a winter pall. Quite 

 cold and shivery it was, too, and 

 altogether more like May or June than the 

 second month of the year. 



It was a very fascinating morning for 

 a walk, and by seven o'clock we had had a 

 cup of tea, donned our coats and thickest 

 boots, and were on our way down the 

 gully. Of all the beautiful bush times 

 there are, I know of none more delicious 

 than an early misty morning, when the 

 mist is not cold and dank, but soft and 

 cool, as it was this morning. It rests on 

 your cheek like a fairy down, damps your 

 hair into curl, cools and freshens your 

 whole body, and sends you swinging along 

 your path with head erect, sniffing the 

 fresh earth smells all round you. 



TEA TREE 



