Around home with your baby boy all day where the mist outside makes seeing where you walk all the more magical a muddle. You ventured out finally beyond the front yard in the middle of the afternoon with the drizzle dropping kisses on every pleased plant you came across, all the way to the Three Sisters, covered in cotton wool. Taking a breather on a bench, the boy devoured a jar of apple custard in between giggling at his silly dada seeing what new kind of noises he could make through his dry, cracked lips. Returning through town, you picked up a couple of slices of kingfish and then a bottle of dry white for the evening meal, as well as a couple of long necks for the lazy walk back to base, downing the first while waiting for some hot chips, the second cruising down the hill, one hand on the stroller, one hand on the bottle, and the hand of the Holy Ghost passing father and son a chip as needed, dipped first in mayonnaise, whispering you the strains of a song both ancient and ever so modern, until everybody else joined in.

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