Going Going Gone

I seem to have missed summer.

It's not that I haven't felt the heat, the oppressive just-under-the-roof oven temps that the upstairs bedrooms get. It's not that I haven't noticed the usual South-Easter howling furiously under the doors and destroying blinds day or night. Or sizzled my butt on vinyl climbing into Olivia's driver seat.

But this summer I worked in a permanently aircon-levelled temperature, where a mere small window shows the seasons pass outside - and not even opening the window gives an accurate indication of the weather out there. I've been constantly cold, dragging my jackets and jerseys to work on days where the rest of the world swelters - all thanks to the whims of those who control the aircon switch. And I've been working indoors too much too. This is the first year that my legs have stayed glow-in-the-dark white all summer. My arms have a "farmer's tan" from Landy work and driving, but the rest of me looks like summer's passed me by.

And it has.

I took a quick stroll to the mall next door over lunchtime through a day that's perfect summer. Yet I've had none of it. I've been at a desk today, staring at a screen, eyeing the mountains through the window now and then, or mentally escaping through the image of a Landy splashing through puddles on my wallpaper. By the time I go home the day will be done and I will have missed it. I will not have played in the mud or breathed 8 hours of fresh air and sunshine. I will not have lazed in the warm rays or felt hard-work sweat running down my spine. I will have missed it all.

Just like the rest of summer.

And for a summer-child, that's just terrible.