A journal of questionable quality

Monday, May 15, 2006

Autumn arrives, thoughts turn to home.

the process
Chlorophyll gets to be a hard to find commodity at this time of the year, on this side of the planet. So, the leaves get without the stuff and start showing the other colours. Hence the red, brown, things like that. Hence the mood too I guess. Maybe I'm losing chlorophyll.

the effect
Thoughts, at this time of the year, invariably turn to home, my real home, New Zealand. Christchurch, New Zealand, with it's damp autumns, hideous winters with a temperature inversion that will kill anyone foolish enough to venture outside.

I hate the cold. I've always hated the cold.

Therein lies the paradox. Why do I bother to think at all of a place famous for it's bitching cold weather, rain, sleet, even snow if you get really unlucky?

I sometimes wonder if I have done my time here in the land of Aus. Having been here now longer than I've been anywhere, including New Zealand still doesn't seem to have made the place 'home'.

It might just be Brisbane - the semi tropical paradise with it's wickedly cold winters that does it. It has uncomfortable winters because no one ever believes there is a winter, until it arrives.

But, thoughts do wander to New Zealand. My avowed intention to learn to ski would be fulfilled there naturally. Some of the finest skiing in the world, a few hours drive from Christchurch.

The roaring fire is another drawcard. Not something you see a lot of here, for obvious reasons, I still adore a good fire - and a reason to have one.

And, when you do deal with cold on a constant basis you obviously make adjustments to your attire. Wool has always been a favourite.

Seems that each year, around this time, when Brisbane's insipid attempt at winter appears, I find myself thinking that maybe a real winter would be a damn good thing to have. A real winter in Christchurch, or, preferably somewhere locally rural.

Seriously good kite buggying beaches, always a predictable wind.

A selection of the finest scenery in the world.

My dear old Mum somewhat closer to hand - hopefully instructing me in the finer points of painting with stretched patience well evident.

A true rendition of autumn leaves from truly English trees.

The beauty of the Christchurch Botanical Gardens. Hagley Park in Spring, with the thousands of daffodils blooming straight out of the ground.

The amazing North Westerly foen that sweeps through the place, making everyone's hair stand on end, palpable excitement. Electric.

It's not looking good for Brisbane.

And, to top it off, I would be able to learn to sail, and the place is flat enough that I could ride all day if I felt the need.

But then, there is major buddy, true brother, who resides in Canada, another cold climate set up. What's happening with all this cold weather thinking?

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