OK, technically is not winter yet... Not for another week or so. But considering my furry slippers and three jumpers I am wearing, I contend to disagree. It is cold enough to see steam when I breathe, and the entire city is covered in rain and mist...
Rain seems to have become the typical weather in my corner of the world. It rained most of the summer and autumn, and it is still raining... But mist or fog is something I have not seen often in Sydney...
It reminds me of my far away mountains covered in snow for the most part of the year... Sometimes, in late autumn the fog gets so thick you could cut it with a blunt knife. And yet, at every step, you are aware that high up there are old castles hidden between ever green fir trees.
This cold misty weather makes me miss my home. It is funny how often I tell myself that my home is now here, between Australian beaches, and yet, there are days when I feel lost in this land of eucalyptus trees and I miss my land filled with millenniums old history... With winter on my door step I feel the need to rebel and demand a real winter. Frost and snow... Tiny white ballerinas falling from an almost orange sky, covering centuries old houses and fir-trees that are always green. Snow flakes that dance between tall columns of smoke that almost reach the sky as they escape from tall brick chimneys. Swords of ice hanging from the roofs like stalagmites in a cave. Sharp, think, long and see through...
Winter means snow fights and snow men. It means children laughing and the aroma of wine boiled with sugar and cinnamon. It means speed on a pair of skis...
My soul cries for the winters of my childhood that my children will never know... Not that my brain got used to the idea that it is winter in June and summer in December, because it did not. After 10 years in Australia, if someone asks me to connect seasons to the months of the year, I still say that March is spring, June is summer, September is autumn and December is winter...
This weather makes me home sick...
