When the temperature gets to around thirty-two degrees in our own Antipodean summer, it’s pleasant enough at first but by the third day of it, after the mildest exertion even women cease to ‘glow’ and simply sweat like the rest of us. Then the humidity begins to bear down on us like some sort of cross we must endure. At that point we start blaming things for our discomfort; land clearing, humidity or global warming or perhaps dare I say it, a cumulation of years.
It’s different here. Here when the sky turns blue and the temperature dial begins to rise, it’s time to take off all but that which is necessary for decency and to sit in the sun or to frolic out there as though it may never come again. Warmth, no matter how excessive it may be, is something to celebrate. It should be noted though that these temperatures never quite make it to the shadows, and that is precisely where the habits of a lifetime would have us lurk.
Today when ubiquitous pharmacy thermometers proudly flashed their bright green neon telling us that it was thirty-two degrees on the sunny side of the street we were surprised to say the least, still dressed as we were in wooly socks and jeans, with jumpers around our necks “just in case”. There was a definite chill in the wind in the depth of those shadows in which we hid.
Perhaps if we could sit in the dappled shade for a to convince ourselves that no harm will come from the sun. If we learn to go out in it we’ll be able to leave the jumpers at home like the rest of them.
1 comment
Beautiful mural with the shadows of the trees cast over it!
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