Yesterday I turned up Garth Brooks and drove to Windsor. I belted out Callin’ Baton Rouge with the windows down, pausing only to pull into McDonalds and get a take away coffee. It was cinematic. We had council elections yesterday and I was handing out how-to-votes for my friend’s Mum who is an independent member of her local council. And a bloody good one at that. She got back in, by a landslide. The people voted well.
It was a beautiful Saturday. Sunny, but with a hint of September chill, the winds coming through apologetic but determined to get the job of blowing winter away, done. Dusted. Ready for real Spring, with its blossom air and balmy evenings.
Sydney is blooming. Now come the few months of green, of jasmine and clear mornings, before summer comes with her sticky, lazy weight. Boots are off, thongs are on, feet in ballet flats are no longer pale with cold. I love this time of year and I love the sticky, lazy weight of summer, with her bare feet and salty hair. This time next year I will probably be back in Bavaria watching the leaves turn. So I am going to inhale all of this, cracks and all. Inhale it so deeply there will still be jasmine residue in my lungs next year, when the leaves are turning and the nights are too chilly for sun dresses and open-toed shoes.