The clover is HAPPY, possibly because it’s on drugs (do steroids make you happy?). Not only is a lot of it ridiculously large, I have also found approximately 9 four-leaf clovers since we’ve lived here, which I’m persisting in taking as a good sign despite the fact that they’re obviously not as rare (and therefore magical) as they used to be.
A five minute walk from our house (assuming Moses is in the pram rather than poo-spotting) will get us to a pretty pond on which ducks and water birds and a goose float around waiting for us to show up with crusts (this probably isn’t true). We stand at the edge of the water and I tear up pieces of bread and throw some to the birds and some to Moses, all of whom snack merrily. It’s an outing that consistently leaves me feeling blessed and content, so we go at least once a week.
A few months ago now, Moses and I were at the local park and a kangaroo bounded by. A KANGAROO! BOUNDING! IN THE PARK!
I whined about the roads before we moved here, but I’ve since found out that they were actually not designed by a drunkard but were in fact made bendy on purpose, in order to slow down the traffic. Glenmore Park has aged my driving by approximately 50 years. I’ve discovered the joys of watching the world pass by at only 40km per hour, finding myself doing this speed even on straight streets in other suburbs.
I may have been too harsh on Glenmore Park when we first moved here; now that I can find my way home from both entrances I’m starting to think maybe it’d be nice to stay here forever.