by Michael Conway

Walking out onto my back veranda I slowly dropped into my old rocking chair the cold beers in my hand I place carefully on the table, before I purposely filled my pipe. The sun was setting after another hot day in the high nineties; the air was still, not a murmur of a breeze, a clear sky would mean another hot sticky night.

You can’t help but look at the landscape that is laid out in front of me.

You have the back drop of the mountains in the distance, the peaks shinning from the almost setting sun.

Following my eye line down from the mountains you cross a large spance of green given away to a mature forest of mixed trees.

In front of the forest was a bridge crossing a river, which flowed into a large lake on my right.

With all the birds, butterflies and wildlife around you were never short of something interesting to watch. At dusk when thing were quite you could sometimes hear the fish jumping, by the constant splashes, or see the many bats flying by.

In the fore front from the veranda down to the river, is covered by a lawn, surrounded by beautiful flower beds. The content of a collection of roses, azaleas, dahlias and ground covering plants that fills the air with perfume and gives you a wonderful array of colour to admire.

The views here are spectacular, particularly in the mornings when the mist rest on top of the trees and across the lake like a blanket, with the early morning dew sparkles off the lawn like diamond shards.

This is a truly magic place with changing landscapes and colour throughout the days and seasons.

If there is a better place to chill and rest ones ageing body, then surly it must be this place all the preachers talk about called heaven.

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