A bit late with this one, but some of my favourite things from the past month ...

Lerderderg camping, wandering, night sky watching; Humble’s warm breath on my feet on cold mornings; meeting my lover at the skatepark at dusk; this paisley-and-velvet number; catching up with travelling musician friends like Timberwolf and Morgan Joanel; Mexican and movie nights with an old friend – talking energy and light and life paths with a new one; putting together one of my favourite installments for the Volcom blog; planting winter vegetables and propagating my mum’s indestructible succulent strain; Idylwild’s ‘Wild Horses’ thermal; (slowly) learning Cripple Creek and Foggy Mountain Breakdown on my banjo; clean sheets on winter nights; the artwork of Edith Rewa; and my new Moth Vine Moon print.

My newest blog post for Volcom is up here, check it out!

Lots of fun times with daisies and petals and silver stars. 

Harley Davidson Charisma boots; Volcom Chilled Out velvet dress; Tanglewood Cove Creek five-string banjo; Three Arrows Leather Mind's Eye pouch; Cotton On Body bralette; The 2 Bandits Wrangler neck cuff; Spell and the Gypsy Collective Prism Bomb necklace; Rings: Lo and Chlo, Rejoice the Hands, all others vintage/market finds.

Sometime around a week, or maybe two weeks, ago, Melbourne just dropped the seasonal switch and it suddenly became cold, windy, and drizzly in general and miserable in particular. This is the kind of climate-specific event that sends all expatriate northerners into a deep depression. When I call my parents back on the NSW north coast, they’re still talking about sweltering heat and swimming in the creek, and cracking their first tin of icy beer for the afternoon.

It’s a thing we complain about every year, and we usually spend the next five or six months (because that’s how long winter is – at least – in Melbourne) sketching out plans to move home. I’m sure the city’s surly weather has beaten back more than its fair share of northern migrants who just can not stand, any longer, the idea of only being able to swim for one month of the year. 

Regardless of how good the city might be.

But anyway, I’m just writing all this down to remind myself that I feel this way every year. And that every year, we just batten down and try not to get too sad about the short days and the wet shoes. Because there’s things like paisley velvet, heavy leather, stiff denim and black lace; hot chocolates and T.S. Eliot; extended banjo sessions; weird winter blooms; sketchbooks to fill; infinite variations on turquoise, silver and brass jewellery; a medium-sized brown dog; road trips in knits and blankets; fires and whiskey; new moon night skies; a lover and a warm bed; 80s movies and TV shows; Eaten by Dogs and John Lee Hooker; and a spring that will eventually show up.