August was unusually warm and dry, especially for the last month of winter. There were still tomatoes growing on the plants that draped over the garden bed. Untouched by frost. Bees buzzed around the backyard, making the most of the few flowering plants, which persevered through the cooler months. I allowed myself to rest, to sit in the sunshine, gazing out at the natural world. I gave myself permission to just be.
To notice how the days were growing longer and the evenings were gradually stretching out - heralding the changing seasons. In the cold and dark of winter, I had planted many small seeds of change - burying them deep within my subconscious. Seeds of self-acceptance, compassion, creativity, bravery, self-awareness. Seeds of healing.
As August drew to a close and birds started courting, I felt them begin to stir.
Spring announced itself in dramatic fashion, with a blistering heatwave. Hot, dry wind swept across the dusty ground and the sun baked away the last few hints of moisture. Storm clouds gathered, but the longed-for rain fell elsewhere - offering no relief. I pulled out the hose, watering the garden every few days as I gazed hopefully up at the sky.
My days were spent nurturing seedlings, pulling weeds and writing. Sad stories from my childhood, love letters to a handsome French sailor that I would never send and playful rhymes that masked the inner turmoil behind my words. I walked through the bush, dwarfed by the towering trees, glad to feel small and fragile.
The heat intensified. Smoke drifted lazily through the air and for the first time in three years - I feared the coming summer. La Nina had paid a long visit, coaxing many seasons of frantic growth. Now El Nino was back and everything was tinder, just waiting for a spark. Windy days fuelled the fear, the threat of wildfire looming. Not if, but when.
Many people long for summer. I just long for it to be over.