Summertime

It's summer on these streets. For long burning hours the sun beats down upon the path, fries the grass, tans the leaves, bleaches, drains and burns. Shoppers flock like birds to water, to air-conditioned worlds and jostle through the crowds carrying tinsel, beer and junk. In backyards kids splash in paddling pools and race under sprinklers, while Dads and uncles absentmindedly turn sausages in the tired afternoon sun. Working her way slowly up a sticky hill on a yellow bicycle in the middle of this clichéd suburban scene is a girl with a backpack full of books, with more bags of books hanging off the handle bars. It’s not particularly discernable at a first, second or even a third glance, but she is rather unhappy. Inside her mind is only a dark and dreary hole, despite, or perhaps because of the sun, the struggling breeze and the lemon-scented bush.

Welcome to the inaugural Summer edition of this bloggety-blog, summer has in fact been kicking along for at least a month now, but I think I just woke up and felt the sunburn on my nose. Inaccuracies aside, I’ve decided that this summer is not about losing weight, or eating healthy, drinking less coffee, saving the planet or any of the ho-har, but that it is absolutely necessary that I dance in my underpants more often. In so many ways I am the bane of my own existence. Henceforth, I intend to reverse this ridiculous state of affairs and go on a summer journey, a search if you will, for the good things, the positives and some deeper, hopefully not mythological, state of contentment. Hitch a ride if you like ;-)