Equal with the lazy weekend breakfast for sheer pleasure comes the winter picnic lunch.
Yesterday our daughter M took us on a picnic to Tipperary Springs. It was cold, but we rugged up, we had the place to ourselves, and there were no flies.
We ate Red Beard bread, tomatoes, cheese, baby spinach leaves, Kalamata olives and delicious homemade hummus; and we drank mineral water that our grandson Z pumped for us.
Then, while Z and our granddaughter I ran around, climbing trees and crossing creeks, we drank hot tea from the thermos M had brought with her and oat cookies she'd baked for us.
After we'd finished eating all the food M produced from her basket, we went for a short walk along one of the bush tracks that lead up from the picnic ground.
Thanks so much, M, for our winter picnic: for the food, the company, and for the way you warmed us up in the chill air with the light and warmth of your lovely, lovely self.