Heat

In days pre air conditioning,
The populous,
Those wealthy enough,
Would escape to the cool climes of their mountain retreats.
But today,
It is hot even in the mountains,
Where we presently swelter.

We are of the less modern ilk,
And scorn such extravagances as reverse-cycle air conditioning.
We live off grid.
So it is just hot.

No balmy sea breeze takes the edge off.
The water-tank filled swimming pool,
Is not even wading deep.
And the stagnant air is warm,
Beneath shady trees.

It is on these rare days,
Where lethargy and fractiousness reign,
And no productivity is possible,
That indolence and idleness should be embraced.

Fermenting

I have been fermenting today,
There is a restlessness.
It produces gaseous exchanges.
That distend me and burst out at intervals.
It is yeasty,
Like my bread dough.
It is damp and mouldy,
Like my Winter wet house.
And it fizzes like Kombucha.
There is a sickening sweet smell pervading,
Like mature cheese.
And it craves sugar,
To feed its voracious appetite.
Perhaps some crispness,
Sunny Summer salad,
And light exercise in a drier climate will dispel it.



 

Awaiting the Storm

Oppresive.
Humidity and heat.
Brain crushing air pressure.
Invisible forces aiding gravity to drag....
Drag you down.
With all the plans you had for the day.
You watch them go down the drain,
Along with your desires, good intentions, optimism and energy.
The afternoon crawls at the same pace as you complete your chores.
The pressure in your head reaches a climax.
And just when you feel you can endure it no longer,
Something breaks.
It arrives with gentle rumblings,
Darkening skies and welcome, restorative breeze.
Two black cockatoos pass overhead,
Harbingers,
'Squwaaaaking' at intervals.
Now is the time to sit on the verandah and await the majesty,
Of the storm.

Night Noises

9:40 pm
Matthew blogs.
Tink, tink, tink.
Kitchen clock,
Tick, tick, tocks.
Attracted by the luminosity,
Christmas beetles,
 Buzz, bang.
And intermittently,
Tap, tap, buzz, buzz, tap,
The blackened windows.
A bubble escapes the air lock,
From our fermenting currant wine,
Blop.........blop.
Fluorescent light overhead,
Subtly screams high pitched,
In unison with the low whirring of the fridge,
And my mid range tinnitus.

Midsummer Days

Too, too hot,
On these Midsummer days.
My children are inside retreating from the scorch.
For a while they read in various contortions of repose.
Then precariously they play a card game.
Until inevitably competition causes tears and fists of retribution.

Then outer clothing is replaced by splendid embellishments.
Expressive dancers slink to the beat of an ' eighties ' crooner.
Two fairies and a ninja live in an elaborate, fantastical world of their own creation.

On goes the pump to water the garden.
In knickers, jocks and singlets,
 Ear piercing squeals join the chorus of the petrol motor.
The shock of cold water on warm skin is too much.

Heat of the day

In the heat of the day I fail.
My mind and it's multitude of ideas are lost.
My brain finds itself a miasma of warm lumpy custard.
Humidity and thickening air weigh me down.
Yet I cannot enjoy a refreshing siesta,
The sheets damp - cling
The afternoon sun finds a slit between the blinds,
And finds my face
No respite.
Nothing to do but to wait,
Until the coolness of night.