Last weekend was spent in Hobart. What a beautiful city it is - surrounded by hills and nestled on the banks of the Derwent River. We stayed at perhaps the loveliest hotel I have ever been in - The Islington.
On the Saturday morning we drove to the top of Mount Wellington. It was freezing cold - I only survived a couple of minutes outside the car in the wind and the icey conditions. As we drove back down the mountain the sun glimmered silver on the river.
I was privileged to take the photos at a friend's wedding - held at a bowling green in Hobart it was a day filled with laughter, champagne and lots of barefoot bowling.
This couple were watching a tournament being played on the top green, murmuring about the game. I asked how long they had been together.
" About two years," she said. " Our partners both died some time ago and we were all great friends - and now we are together."
On Sunday we drove through the lush green of the Lachlan Valley. Tall poplars lined the road side as did vibrant wildflowers. The air was still and only the call of a child playing in a paddock disturbed the silence.
We had been uncertain about going to MONA. We are glad we did. Yes there is art that is confronting but there are also waterfalls of words, sculpures made of delicate foam, tiny bees and butterflies strung on spider web fine strings. A goldfish swimming in a bowl on a chair. A white room filled with white books. A giant worm in a graveyard of marble headstones which mutters and breathes as you walk past. Or stop and stare.
We will return.