And so it was decided that the sewing machine would be taken for one last drive, and as its shifting parts moved against each other, first slowly and then faster and faster, and the familiar whirring sound was heard for the last time, a certain melancholy pervaded the air and a certain reluctance was felt in the old pedal.
But then, within an hour, a new model was on its way, smooth and silent, bearing its owner home. And so the ageless cycle began anew.
He who has ears to hear, let him hear.
MacKillop-Woods Way Pilgrimage 2018 – Day Seven (22 April) – Narooma to Bodalla via Potato Point - I woke early before dawn on Sunday morning having slept like a log in the big comfortable bed at Marg Latimer’s home. The good food and wine and company (a...
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