APRIL 83 



away over tree-tops and paddocks to the mountains, it is not 

 the same as being out in the morning. I don't like to be 

 laughed at, even by kookaburras, who laugh at everyone and 

 everything, so I jumped out of bed, and in less than half an 

 hour was on my way down to the bush. 



I might as well confess that it was not only the kookaburras 

 and the charm of the morning that allured me out. I wanted 

 to find some flowers to fill my vases, for my garden is very 

 bare at present, and I have to depend almost entirely on the 

 spoils of the bush. There are no flowers now in the gully, and 

 I knew that I should have to go on to the sandstone before I 

 should find any. Just where the two types of country meet 

 and merge I came to a regular wattle grove ; not the golden 

 wattle of the poets, but the soft, creamy sort which has a 

 beauty of its own. There were two kinds growing all together 

 and a few weeks back they were in full beauty : but now they 

 are nearly over, and the ground beneath was strewn with the 

 creamy powder of their flowers. But I found two other wattles 

 a little further on, which were in full bloom the juniper-leafed 

 wattle, with its pale gold balls, which was too prickly to pick ; 

 and the Port Jackson wattle, with its leaflets dark above and 

 pale below, of which I picked a bunch. 



Pushing on down towards the river, I came across a perfect 

 bower of blossoms. Amongst the big grey rocks and beneath 

 the scraggly, scribbly gums there grew a thick mass of the 

 daintiest white blossom ; its umbels of tiniest white flowers 



