Walking through the rain the other day, I was thinking about the sensory assault one can receive from rain: The sight of it can be daunting or magnificent. The smell and feel of it might be refreshing or dampening to the spirits. And there’s always the sound – rhythmic and relentless.
Now and then, when I ruminate about rain in this way, I’m reminded of a lesson I received in Grade 2. Continue reading
It’s such a shame that water is such a precious and limited resource.
Coming home from a long day at work, or after any emotionally taxing day, there’s nothing better than a nice long shower – hot in winter, and ice cold in summer.
For me, I don’t think it’s as much about the feel of the water on my skin as it is about the complete immersion in the sound. Sure, the cooling/warming feeling (as the season requires) is soothing, and certainly helps to ease the tension from my body, but what I’ve come to realise is that the sound – the noise – is paramount.
I’ve lived my whole life in Australia, in a place that doesn’t snow. Growing up, I’d watch American movies and TV shows (and probably some British ones too), and always see those stereotypical scenes of children waking up to snow (usually on or around Christmas), and I’d think how wonderful that would be (on any day of the year). So you can probably imagine my delight, on the morning February 7th (yes, these posts are taking a lot longer than I’d originally foreseen), when I peered out the window of our Sapporo hotel, and saw flurries of glorious snow falling from the sky!
The snow continued to fall quite heavily as we left our hotel and made our way to Susukino Station. I could not take the smile from my face. (I was probably also still on a high from the Sapporo Snow Festival the day before.)
Today was a lovely day. A blue sky, mild weather sort of day. Brisbane springtime at its best. Around mid-afternoon, after having met up with a friend for lunch and a general catch up, I made my way over to my favourite grassy spot in South Bank to just sit and relax.
I’ve gotten into the habit of always (or almost always) bringing pen and paper, and a novel with me wherever I go; but today I’d also brought earphones, and decided I just wanted to sit back, listen to music, and people-watch. (Well, initially I did try to write a bit, but the inspiration wasn’t really coming, so I didn’t worry about it.)
July isn’t even over yet, and the weather’s already warmed up so much. I went for a run the other night and felt like it was summer already. I’ve spent this last week lamenting the premature end of winter. Even in the early hours of the morning, or late at night, I can comfortably walk around outside without a second layer – just a t-shirt and jeans is enough.
Time to seek colder climates further south, perhaps?
It is only July, and I’m already dreading summer. If this is what July is like, how much are we going to suffer in December? I can’t believe there are people still walking around in coats and jumpers. Maybe they’re holding on to some last shred of hope, an illusion of winter.
Well, at least the coldest part of this winter was colder than any part of last winter…
It is finally cold here. In the last few days, the temperature has dropped, the chill has set in, and it is finally cold.
It’s the sort of cold that makes me shiver and makes my teeth chatter. It’s the sort of cold that makes my fingers freeze as I type, and makes me contemplate searching for my gloves (but I probably won’t). It’s the sort of cold that gives me hope that maybe – just maybe – we will have a “proper” winter this year.
It is gloriously cold.