“I am so deeply in love with your beautiful work, and so grateful to have had it in our isolated days.”Eliza, NSW Aust.
THE AUTUMN’S A DREAM STORY
I grew up in regional country towns in Australia. Towns that positively cooked in Summer. They were hot, dry, the landscape was the colour of straw as thirsty grasses waited out the season. Heatwaves would simmer on the horizon of the bitumen road as my brothers and I walked home from where the rowdy ‘every-man-for-himself’ school bus dropped us off.
But they weren’t so hot and dry so as to not have a change of season (unlike further north or west). Autumn, which is also around the time of my birthday and perhaps adds that element of childhood anticipation, was always pure pleasure. The morning sun softened. Midday was still glorious sunshine but without the edge, and the walk home could slow to a stroll, not having to escape the heat.
As autumn turned to winter, the most delightful things would emerge. The heater, for example. And then from the heater (or electric blanket) at night, came the early morning condensation on the window: signs of a deliciously cosy night’s sleep. Autumn leaves, their colours, their crunch. The spikey seed pods on suburban lawns, and if we were lucky … frost, or even … frozen puddles!
This kind of cold was world’s away when I lived in North West Queensland (10 hours drive from the coast) and even now, on the Sunshine Coast. But there’s still elements of Autumn that are a dream.
And so this, is an ode to all that.