It feels like Spring has come and is now going so quickly, as it seems to every year. I notice it out of the corner of my eye and hear it whispering sweet nothings as I go about my day but as soon as I take the time to stare it in the face and spend some quality time basking in the loveliness, Spring has gone and Summer is staring back at me – shouting, not whispering – promises of unbearably hot days spent looking for shady spots and icy drinks.
As you may have guessed (perceptive people!) I am not a Summer person, at least, not an Australian Summer person. I can already feel myself bracing for the impact of the next few months. But for the moment, Spring and Summer are engaging in a tussle for prominence. On the days that Summer wins, I hear people saying they think this year will be particularly hot. I hear them say how much they are looking forward to it, or how they, like me, are not ready and wish Spring could last a few more weeks.
On the days that Spring wins, I step out into the day and stretch and walk and feel comfortable and good.
I cook roasts and I barbecue.
I shop for pretty dresses and new perfume.
I smell the the green grass and the jasmine which goes wild in my garden, jumping from its usual climbing spot to entwine itself around the branches of the frangipani tree.
I see the magpies swoop in to attack every moving thing, including me, then sit on the fence, ruffling their feathers menacingly and I know there must be a nest with chicks close by.
I sit outside and read and I relax.
I daydream about holidays near the mountains and the sea, in small towns and big cities.
I clean and tidy and make plans.
I look for new work – interesting, valuable work – and I set out in pursuit of it.
I wish to find my man and hope he’s out there somewhere.
Sweet Spring fever.