The trees made me homesick this morning, in their quintessentially Australian way. The road to Woollies is lined with flame trees, and I love their burning glory, but they're not Irish.
The trees in the park by the house are gum trees with their peeling bark, and pale eucalyptus. The birds are angry plovers, screaming their fury at my invading their turf.
At home, winter is beginning, and Dad's blog is full of the Autumn foliage, frosted fields, and all round coldness. Here, it reached 37C last week, the summer storms have set in, and even at 0700 this morning, it was too hot to run.
Lily doesn't know any better: she runs anyway. When we get back to the house she drips water from her bowl everywhere, and then collapses panting on the cold tiles.
This is home, I know, but home is also thousands of miles away, and sometimes it feels even further. I'm excited about the new house, and looking forward to moving in, but it also feels like it ties me down even more.