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Changing seasons

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There is a lot positive to be said about the changing of the seasons, it’s just that it doesn’t all “spring” (ha ha, weak I know) to mind immediately.  I am under attack by the dust and pollen and bush fires and other rubbish in the air.  The glaring sun, with its almost white light, is less than flattering for everyone, particularly after the winter months. We emerge with all our dents and dimples on display.  By midday, all the hairspray has evaporated with the sweat (not that I use hairspray – not enough hair). We are limp, with damp patches under our arms, shiny faces and the energy God gave a sloth.  Everyone in Europe associates spring with green. Here everything is brown, and dry – even the horizon is dyed with dust.

The birds of course, have returned from wherever they went (at least I don’t pretend any great knowledge), and their chirping is cheerful first thing in the morning – only drowned out by calls of “Moooom, I can’t find my school shoes!”.

And then total silence by lunchtime as everything pants in the shade.  All creatures are preparing for the next round of babies (imagine having to go through that each year??) and the weaver over my swimming pool is industriously stripping the palms for nesting material. Poor bugger continues despite the repeated rejection – he has built 3 already this season; at least, those are ones that survived her ladyship’s onslaught. I put water out just for him, to help him through the heat and encourage him.  Aaah.

The pool is back in play, which is a blessing for all mothers.  The children can jump and splash and play and then collapse in an exhausted heap at the end of the day, happy to be in bed, no arguments, asleep before you finish the story.

Perfect.

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