1814.................Bendigo Winter.
The sound of axes and woodcutters in the bush background,
The scented smell of burning boxwood rising from the chimney's all accross the gullys,
The baker's oven fills the air with smell of fresh bread and rolls,
A blacksmith hammer falls onto the anvil hammering another miners pick and horse shoe, whilst the bellows follow tune,
Children play in the streets on their way to school, running and laughing whilst their mothers beckon to the them to stay out of the puddles of frozen water,
Horse and cart weave their way in and out of the content townsfolk on their way to the local goods store for supplies,
The sound of picks and shovels echo's accross the gullys almost keeping time,
A cry from Job's gully brings news of a great find that see's the whole community gather round and each share in the amazement of the lucky diggers new find,
"To the local one and all for this bitterly cold day shall see our bellies warmed with the taste of good liquor, i shout you all with the wealth from my gold find" says the lucky digger as he struts off leading the heard of cold weary diggers through the foggy winter air.
2014..................Bendigo Winter
The sound of chainsaws and sawbenches in the bush background,
The smell of boxwood burning mixed with firelighters and paper hang low accross the suberbia gullys,
The sound of the engine exhaust brake cracks through the morning air as the bread truck goes about his deliveries,
A boiley's grinder screams through the day, while he is busy making another ute or trucktray,
Children exit the cars at the front of the school, stepping past the frozen puddle's of water, while the mothers roar off, as if it was the first time they were going to be late for an appoitment.
Delivery trucks angrily blast their horns at shoppers as they duck into a park bay,
The sound of reversing alarms and heavy machinery now echo accross the gullys once filled with man and hand tool,
No cry can be heard from Jobs gully, just a whisper and a hum..............followed by a faint whooop........... as the digger recovers his small but satisfying little nugget, kept absolutely quiet as not to draw attention to himself, he slowly disappears into the foggy winter air in search of his next great find.
But winter stays the same.
