Poinsettias

The drought has broken

Plague locusts massing

An army waiting. Biding their time

Farmers nervously watching, crops decimated if all goes as feared

Summer skies, usually blue and high, will blacken with the onslaught of flying
ravenous insects. Devouring every green thing in their path

A politician (chasing city votes) flippantly states: "They'll stop when they get to Melbourne"
as of thats ok

Glossing over the farmers' anguished loss

The scientists disagree - the suburbs will mirror the farmland, bereft of green
All will be eaten in the path of this horde

Happily the silk poinsettias in the window box survive.



More information about the Australian Plague Locust including a link to a swarm map, can be found here, and images here.

This Drabble is number 7 of 31 at the Annual Advent Calendar at The Burrow.


***

A Christmas treat.

I'm taking five to rest my aching feet. It's noisy with the grinding of the beans and the hiss of the coffee machines. But the aroma! Rich and heady in the thickness of the sticky humidity.


There's music in the background, I think, barely audible above the discordant clatter of cutlery and happy chatter. This is the best part of Christmas shopping, taking time out to check and update the list - twice if you must know!

I'll call it a successful three hours and retire from the frazzled hoards and tedious queues.
                                                        

Two lovingly chosen gifts are ready to wrap.

A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.

***

I like Melbourne

I like Melbourne. It might be unfashionable, but it's a really lovely city. The drought seems to have broken, the dams are filling, there's an air of anticipation with Cup Day almost upon us. The trees are green again, (did we lose as many through drought as they expected?) and the city seems genuinely welcoming, and dare I say, during the day at least, it's a good place to visit.

There are more coffee shops and cafes than you could shake the proverbial stick at. The serviceable chains are well represented: Hudson's, Gloria Jeans, Starbucks, but more interesting are the smaller owner operators. And they offer good coffee. You want it organic? no problems. Fair Trade? just down the lane. A richer brew? over the road. You only drink soylatte? fine, that's there too. You'd like to sit outside and watch the passing parade? you'll certainly join a vibrant throng doing just the same. Yes, we're certainly well served by fabulous cafes, with some interesting graffiti to ponder when you tire of the cafe scene.

The First Tuesday in November. A date we know and love! After the lack of public holidays through winter, this one is very welcome. The boutiques are pulling out all stops to outdo their competitors, and entice the cashed up, glamorous young ladies in. But this is the first time I've seen golden rose petals complete with glitter strewn outside; surprisingly, no one had stomped on them during the frenetic lunch hour.

But alongside this commentary on coffee lover's heaven, I suppose I should mention in passing that yesterday there was a small downside.

It's spring, there was a gentle breeze, and the Plane (?) trees are showering the city in confetti seeds. It looked delightfully pretty, fluttering down in a persistent shower, sneaking under table legs, settling on the car windscreen, sneaking into underground carparks. But the citizens are suffering. Pharmacies and corner stores are stocking up on tissues and anti-allergy medications - spring fever seems to have hit big time. People are red eyed, snuffling, sneezing violently and wetly; soggy tissues abound.

It's safer to seek safe haven in the airconditioned food halls than risk a shower of sneezed droplets at an outdoor cafe on a day like yesterday, perfect as it - almost - was.

And why does Melbourne get such bad press? Because after the (almost) perfection of yesterday, today it's raining, and the forecast for tomorrow? Heavier rain. I haven't checked what they're predicting for Tuesday, but my recollection is of painful sunburn one year, and paddling in floodwater later the same day. Keep's you on your toes though don't you think?

Sport. It just isn't fair.

I'd just like to put a stop to the rumour that all Victorians are sports mad.

We're not.

Categorically, emphatically, not.

I come from a long line of healthy, happy, well adjusted, (well we think so anyway) non sport loving people.

But there are occasions when I almost wish I had a basic understanding of things related to sport. Almost is the crucial word here. You see, everyone assumes that Victorians are passionate about AFL (AKA footy) for starters, and love a variety of other sports ranging from soccer and cricket, to rugby, tennis and netball, in fact pretty much any sport particularly of a team nature.

I've tried to enjoy them, I really have, but it just doesn't work.

***

Sadly it kind of kills the conversation when the confession is apologetically uttered. It comes across as being unVictorian, and possibly even unAustralian, of letting the side down.

But it doesn't mean we are ill. Or to be shunned. Or destined for the white jacket with arms that tie behind the back.

We simply don't relate to sporty events.

But I don't think I'm on a winning streak with my disinterest in sport. So I sometimes feign interest, and make inane comments. I confess I'm grateful to the 'IT Crowd' episode where Moss and Roy bluff their way through a conversation at a pub pretending to be "real men". It gave me a few clues and useful phrases that work quite successfully with taxi drivers :)

Thanks guys!

Winter doldrums

Oh my goodness, hasn't it been cold. I think that over the last few years, we've forgotten what Winter "should" feel like.

The summer dust is long gone, and the trees have had their fill of water. Leaves that were crisp and dead have blown away and been replaced with fresh growth. Now, it's drizzly and miserable. I've wimped out of scooping the dead bird into the compost heap. It must have been blown off a branch the other night during the storm. That's the second one this month. I wonder if it means the storms are particularly vicious, or if the birds have forgotten what storms are like? I suppose 12 years of drought could be enough for the group memory to fade?

The last few winters have been uneventful affairs. Ho hum weather, dry and not even particularly cold, but this year we've been getting the extremes. It's as if the sky gods are making up for lulling us into a state of complacency. And so we've had rain. All sorts of rain. Vast sheets of bucketing rain, miserable squalls interspersed with pallid blue sky and grubby clouds, drizzly rain that appears ineffectual until you go out and it seeps through the layers, down the sleeves and up your arms to your elbows. How on earth does it do that? And the hail. We've never seen anything like it down here before. The size of golf balls, damaging cars and roofs, and injuring animals and people. Not fun at all.

But speaking of fun, one of the joys of my childhood and that of my children was splashing in puddles, making leaf boats and floating them down the little rivulets in the gutters. This last generation of children missed out on that pass-time. No puddles, no gumboots, no running under the hoses in Summer and squealing with pleasure. No rain.

I wonder how the gumboot manufacturers fared? I don't think you could have bought them for love nor money for many years. But this year! Joy! They are out and proud! During their hibernation they really have evolved into footwear of beauty. Boring black or basic block colours? Forget it. These are paisley, floral, with animal prints, with little ears and dangles and doodads. They're really making up for lost time and bringing smiles in spite of the dreary weather.

Life is good.