It is that time of year when the change of seasons seems particularly quick. I wont bore you with mathematical explanations of how with periodical sinusoidal motions, the maximum rate of change is midway between the peak and the trough. Oh… hang on, I already have. I will tell you about the signs at Possum Valley.
There will be no more sweaty days. To work up a decent sweat, I will have to do some hard yakka… god forbid. Many days will not creep into the 20’s centigrade. But I don’t rely on the thermometer to tell me the change of seasons, as it is the average day/night temps that matter. A reliable instrument is if I can spread butter on the bread without totally destroying it. I am one of the few in Oz who doesn’t keep the butter in the fridge. Here it never gets hot enough to separate into ghee and whey, Or is that curds and whey? Anyway, it doesn’t go into a slimy mess. So my next purchase of bread spread will be of ‘softened’ butter. In other words contaminated with vegetable products. Sigh.
Another token of the season change is the young black snake that has taken up residence in the power supply control system. The electronic devices produce a steady warm glow most attractive to animals of the serpentine persuasion. I have to watch where I put my hands, but I have confidence it will keep away the rodents who are the summer residents. I have also been sharing my shower and bathroom with a frog for the last few weeks. If a frog comes in out of the rain, you know it is a bit wet outside. Frogs are quite agreeable house-mates, as they are the scourge of the insect population. Call me prejudiced, but I prefer my soft flappy little friend to the host of six and eight legged invaders clamouring for the real estate I thought was mine.
To my friends in much higher latitudes, I have to admit that the change of seasons is nowhere near as dramatic as you enjoy, or endure. The length of day is much the same, the temperatures drift from from the pleasant but sometimes a bit hot, to the pleasant but sometimes a bit cool. No, we don’t have the drama of light and dark, hot and cold. Nor the almost complete cessation of plant growth that so affected neolithic societies. When the autumn harvest was in and the produce preserved and stored as best you could, then you could calculate with a deathly precision, could the family survive the winter? Bad harvest? Then best take the grandpas and grandmas to the dark forests as soon as possible.
On that dark thought, I leave you to contemplate our wealth and ease.
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