Sunday, March 04, 2012

Darkness and light

Technically this week heralded the end of summer and the start of autumn. In reality we got a new mini season in itself – a whole week akin to Mordor a few minutes before Frodo burnt his ring, a dark shadow oppressively omnipotent and upper level disturbances bringing a third of our average annual rainfall in the space of seven days. Barbecue and Lembas bread weather it was not.

Over five years ago I arrived to an Australia in drought, with a scorching consistency in its heat and aridity. I thought such climes were the norm, but the last couple of years have put paid to that. Coldest summer days in history, record rainfalls, below par sunshine and plans being scuppered by the heavens. It takes some adjustment. The wonderful upside to this though is the seeping green colouration of this supposedly wide brown land. A mild case of Devonisation perhaps?

The rains provide their own short term drama as well as long term gain and, while Canberra is well protected for floods, such a deluge cannot fail to make its watermark. On Red Hill, new streams emerge and slice their way through the soft, rich soil, leaving dense pockets of water which require fording or extended leaping. The lake gets the opportunity to refresh itself, to disperse the presents sent from Queanbeyan. Our dams get a good workout, a test of wall strength and design, even if still half finished. And our politicians, in town for all sorts of shenanigans, get pleasingly reminded of the power of nature over their own.



Such wet weekends can be difficult to endure, because this is such an outdoors kind of country with an outdoors kind of attitude. My evidence-based recommendations to get through it include a liberal application of tracky pants, a DVD and / or trip to the movies, slow roasted lamb shank casserole, chocolate cake, and potential holiday planning. But more than any of this, it is the comforting thought that the sun will inevitably shine again that pulls you through.

And there is nothing more satisfying than, after seven days without it, emerging from a dark cinema to the beam of light and warmth from our nearest star. It’s like a welcome, long lost friend who has returned to bring joy and enrich your world. Your shadow returned to accompany you through the journey. The puddles will disappear, but the sun will always, well at least in the next 5 billion years or so, rise again.



No comments: