a morning in leura



Mornings in the Blue Mountains are made of this: cold winter light, reading serious books to help for university (and highlighting with non-serious muji pens the colour of sherbert), kicking off your Porselli ballet flats at the first opportunity, drinking your tea almost lying down, using up the last of the produce from a Local Harvest Collective food sack and the overwhelming quiet of a sleepy country town.

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