The cool of Autumn is just starting to arrive in Sydney, topping and tailing beautiful days of clear skies and lovely sunsets. Munson is popping onto the bed in the mornings to snuggle against my legs. If he thinks this is cold, he’s going to get a rude shock when he encounters his first snow. The cool has reinvigorated all the dogs at the park, so while a group of owners sit on the hill and jointly work the weekend crossword puzzle, all around is a blur of tails, frisbees, snouts and balls.
Our departure is still on hold as I wait for some final paperwork to arrive from France, and for additional quotes on moving my household effects. The date floats about 2 months away from getting those nailed down. I hope I can buy my ticket before the end of next week, and thus get a target set.
On Thursday I had my last French lesson with Elsa, who is off home to Montreal for 3 months before she can return to Sydney with a new visa for a new job and new big life in Sydney. I’ve promised to return from France one day and de corriger sa prononciation.
Meanwhile I’m eyeing everything in the house, whittling my libraries of books and music down a few more shelves apiece. I’d store some of it here but that’s very expensive on a per-annum basis. Munson hasn’t got a clue what’s going on – his last move was nearly 2 years ago and he hasn’t had to watch me packing up a house. Bondi, well-versed in piles of boxes and suitcases, would definitely know that something major was afoot.
Around the house, the malamute way of rest is to either be curled up right next to you or to sit in the next room watching you carefully. Munson is now in the hallway outside my study, lying on his side, flickering between sleep and observation, lazily wagging his tail when I look over his way, not suspecting…