Every year around July, the endless, dreary days of winter bring on a melancholy of spirit that is hard to shake. It is not the cold. It is the greyness, the lack of light that affects me. But just as I thought I could not stand yet another rainy, overcast day I woke up this morning to sun streaming through my bedroom blinds. Making the most of it I threw open all the windows, letting sunshine flood the house. Soon the rooms were filled with the earthy smell of eucalyptus and sun-warmed grass.
After breakfast I put on one of my daughter’s favourite CD’s and danced to Justine Clarke, my daughter squeezing her eyes shut as she spun around the room. After a morning tea of avocado on toast and yoghurt, instead of clearing the table for table tasks as we normally did I left the dishes as they were and upended a large box of blocks onto the lounge room floor. As I lay on my belly building towers blocks, Elizabeth banged them together or jiggled them by her ear, occasionally knocking the towers over with a squeal of delight. Afterwards we lay in a patch of sunshine as I read her stories and sung her nursery rhymes. For lunch, instead of having the winter fare of soup and crackers we shared a plate of mini sandwiches, fruit and cheese, picnic style.
As Elizabeth dozed on a full belly I sat down and begun to write, the first real writing I had done in weeks. Being only July, I know that winter will all too soon re-assert herself, but if we are graced with the occasional day such as this I think I might just get through it.
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