It's always right about this time of year,
as my project deadlines all jostle for attention
in the mad rush to "put everything to bed" before Christmas,
and as the early summer days beckon teasingly with their promising warmth,
that I start dreaming of owning a little farmlet.
Preferably one with rolling hills,
with majestic Eucalypts atop the ridges
and gullies of dense shade filled with bracken and wildflowers,
and in between rows and rows of vineyards and olive groves.
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