Southern sampler
It’s a frigid afternoon in the Southern Highlands and the Wingello Village Store is closing. “Come back tomorrow,” calls a chirpy adolescent through the diminishing space in the door jam. “We serve good breakfast.”
He’s gone in an instant, but the warmth inside is palpable, even through the window. There’s a wall papered with newspaper clippings: local celebrities and feats of heroism. An open fire in the book corner. There are postcards picturing children in green meadows under homespun slogans: Wingello — Where summer walks are a short step away and Wingello — Where the grass is greener.
The grass is green again. No mean feat since this was ground zero in
