It’s been a month! So hello!
Here in Australia it’s getting on towards summer again, my favourite season! And I found this little description I wrote a year or so ago and thought it fitting to share. 😊
ALSO for anyone who read my story of the spread of Paterson’s Curse in Australia you will be either annoyed or happy to know that there is even more of it this year! It may be a pest but paddocks full of purple flowers are still beautiful 😆
Summer creeps up slowly. First the winter days seem more mellow, the wind blows less harshly, the sun blesses the land more often.
Then warmth drifts in for a day or two here and there, the trees and plants eagerly bud and bloom, hasty to catch summer. But it’s much too soon for them, the cold and the warmth proceed to play a game of catch-me-if-you-can, here now, caught again, chased back, peeking round that tree.
You can almost hear summer laughing as the merry pair run and chase each other. The paddocks start to turn bright yellow and deep green, rain falls overnight, flowers float out of the air, coming to rest in the welcoming soil, birds build nests, start families and carol unceasingly.
Then one day you turn around and the yellow paddocks have faded, the chase stops and warmth is the new crowned king. He has conquered the cold and now settles in for a long and peaceful summer.
The trees settle their roots in the warming soil, their happy leaves sheltering noisy cicadas and birds flying to and fro, busy feeding their babies. The air is rich in tiny insects. The warmth reaches clear to the bone. Every house has a sprinkler for the kids to play in.
This happy state continues until winter’s cold grows strong in its long exile and comes again to contest summer’s king.
But that, is another story.
In other news I’m currently reading Go Set a Watchman, the sort of sequel of To Kill a Mocking Bird that has sparked outrage in some parties and mixed feelings in others. Have you read it? What are your opinions of it?
My mum was struck by lightning but I was never scared of storms,
Although everybody seems to love the breeze that summer warms.
I always had a dream, that I would learn to fly,
With thunder above my shoulder and lightning in the sky.
I beg the storm to take me up into the gold and grey,
The wind sings to me so sweetly, till I start to turn away.
I shall walk home through the olive groves and weep, for I’m down here,
While above thunder and lightning dance, there’s not a chance that they can hear.
Fun fact: my mum really was struck by lightning! Indirectly of course, which is why she survived, with a pretty cool story!
Also, summer or winter? In this poem I seem to be leaning towards winter but in actuality I love summer best. Which are you?
Spasmodic drops of rain delight the kookaburras mood,
Their laughter wakes the earth sodden and subdued.
A raindrop for a question, another pounding ‘why?’,
Softly when it’s pestering, a small wind for a sigh.
From deep and murky stars, rain falls like confetti,
Like a long line of laughing questions running down to the sea.
On the top of a mountain, there was an idea,
Grown on fresh air and plenty of beer.
Well actually, not beer, mountain goats don’t drink,
Well they drink water, but that’s all, I think.
Of course I cannot be sure, on the basis of this wild idea,
You never know, they could have been sipping beer.
So there were some goats, coming down from the top,
Of a mountain, they were unwilling to stop.
Because this idea was bigger than billy-o,
So down they charged, they would not go slow.
Because they knew there had never been a deep sea diving goat,
They were heading down to hire a boat.
Follow for more exciting adventures of the deep sea diving goats! As requested 😉
Every time the seasons change, it feels exactly the same,
Each winter smells the same, each summers wind is like those that came,
A million years ago, when the blue sky never wavered,
And brief springs in Octobers are the same as those I savoured,
When I was as tall as the gate post, when I greeted the spring overjoyed,
And when I feel the hot summer air, I cannot be annoyed.
Yes each time the seasons change, I’m catapulted back to each past year,
By the same smells and sounds as then, today they are just as clear.
Carpet bags were meant to fly
As I toss them in the sky.
And a teddy bear loves to dance,
If there is the slightest chance.
A light blue egg will never crack,
While lying on the weathered track.