It's been a hot summer. You know, that's an understatement. It's been a very long and crazy hot summer. Lots of days over forty degrees, those days where staying indoors in cooled air or finding refuge in a river or pool are your only options. This is my first summer back home after seventeen years away, and the sun is hotter than I remember. Maybe it's the altitude, or possibly the planet. Maybe it's just being more aware.
Finally, though, the weather may be turning. At least it did for today, and I'm cold. As I sit and write in my living room wearing a jumper for the first time in a long time, the rings on my finger feel loose and spin upside down as I reach for a hot mug of tea. I look out of our front window at the trees, searching for the tell-tale signs of Autumn. There's no sign of change, nothing to indicate that the season has turned.
I look to the calendar - March 25. Huh. Anzac Day is still a month away, the unofficial day that we Canberrans permit heaters to be turned on for the first time. Seeing as I was born and bred here, I abide by this unspoken rule. But it's still a month away and this cold, it just seeps right into my bones. I don't think hot water bottles and ugg boots are going to get me through another month of this. My mind races thinking through another thirty days of tense cold-twitches, or is it just that I'm actually shivering?
Oh, wait. There's no need to panic. I've realised that nobody else in my household grew up here, they won't know about that rule. I mean, there could be a clause that excuses you after a certain amount on time away, yes? Just be a case, though, I'll be avoiding all conversations about heaters.
