A seasonal post

Summer blew in on an easterly wind one unsuspecting Thursday about a month too early for my liking. I began to groan, to hmph to hmm and harr about the heat, the flies, the impending crimson skin. I spent the afternoon dusting off the fans, slowly mourning cool mornings.

The day wore on.

Then a beautiful evening blossomed in the eastern sky, stretching its arms slowly westward, the breeze snuck off for a nap and the heat subsided, edged away quietly. Cycling along the river felt more like gliding, for once, and it was as if, as if my very soul re-emerged from its dormant slumber. Words itched at my palms, jostling against each other in a heady, summer-surge of breathless-evening-freedom. There is just something about cycling under a paling purple sky beside an orange ball of fire and amongst the scent, the smell of a hot and tired day - it’s like a key that fits inside my head to awaken me.

“Perth?! Is it Perth?” Another cyclist yells at me suddenly in broken English, a lost and sweaty face by the river.

“Yes,” I said. “I think…” Alternatively it is either heaven or hell, I am undecided.