An interruption to our power supply, just as I was about to publish today, has set me back a while. And for a change I was running early! Anyway, here’s what I have to tell you:

A morning after a night of rain is always filled with surprises: glittering jewels suspended from trees, eucalypt leaves twinkling, beautifully arranged leaf-stacks on the driveway, unearthed treasures from the past…

This morning, though, there was something new.

As he opened the blinds, my partner exclaimed, ‘Oh wow! Come and see this.’ Dragging on track pants and jumper against the chill, I rushed to the window.

Washed in bright sunshine, the valley was alive with a wraith-like mist.

It wasn’t the Autumn mist of central Victoria; more the tropical mist of the Central Highlands of New Guinea, or the Amazon basin.

The sun’s warmth, hitting rain-wet ground, had created steam.

Wraiths curled and spiralled upward, as if the spirit of rain was leaving the land.

And as the sun rose higher, the wraiths disappeared.