Wednesday, June 28, 2023
Winter in Queensland is odd.
Eight years on I still get perplexed every year when winter comes and the rain stops.
This year, when we've had days of 28c in July (which is so wrong and unfair I can't even - isn't 7 months of blinding heat enough? This is supposed to beWINTER) the lack of rain means the garden is parched and the streams are low or the beds are dry.
But the trickle of water through the smoothed river rocks can even calm (momentarily) the ire of a Melbournian cruelly denied a proper winter.
The water, undisturbed by rain, is clear and the play of light and water on the rocks soothes and rejuvenates.
We have been sick forever and ever and ever.
One of my daughters showed me a big gob of green snot this morning and was snuffling more snot; my youngest have been taking turns wheezing all night and my son tells me chicken tastes like egg and salami tastes like strawberry, so I'm thinking this last cold was/is probably covid. (Also, someone at my husband's work has covid, although he's also been coughed on by flu vectors as well - so hey, take a number, any number - they all lead to Sick.)
The kids are over it and I am over it and while I've ruled out the playground as it seems antisocial to get snot all over the playground so other families can experience the joys, we can't stay inside all the time.
So we went to the bush. And the green (of the non-snot variety) did everything it was supposed to.
Soothing, rejuvenating, reminding me the sickness can't last forever. (I mean, I know it can, but the green makes me believe it will come to an end.
Moss. Filterered sunlight.
The kids ran and played and fractiously whined and the world was good.