The response of everything here has been amazing; the enzyme cleanser is bubbling away on the window sill, the sourdough is ready in four hours instead of twelve and rises right to the top of its tin, every green leafy vegetable has suddenly bolted skywards and we have had ten baby chickens hatch - a hundred percent success rate for the first time ever.
The easterlies from the desert have begun and the noise of dripping rain has been replaced with the crackle of gum leaves under foot as the trees begin to shed. Our town has has already had one serious wild fire that has threatened homes and left four hundred hectares of coastal heath blackened and ugly around one of the most popular beach side settlements.
In the rush to clear our gutters, plant summer vegetables, reset the irrigation and look towards fruit crops and all consuming madness of Christmas, it seems as if we are always running out of time.
My Christmas wish is that our pollies enter this debate with their eyes open and look to the faces of their children and grandchildren for guidance. We can't afford to run out of time this time.