Seasonal Transitions

The weather is changing .There’s a chill in the air. I’m still wearing sandals and skirts but need a scarf around my neck.

Summer was long and glorious. Football didn’t enter my mind until the summer scandals blazed on to the news bulletins – and stayed there. I don’t have a clue who was traded to who. I watched a mere ten minutes of my team, the Bombers in the NAB cup final because I wasn’t really in football mode.

The cricket amused me until  I decided frustration wasn’t good for the soul. My Ricky Ponting memorial garden  was established. It bloomed and flourished and is still in full colour. However I fear a snap frost is just around the corner. Then it will wilt and merely occupy landspace till next spring.

Footy now starts in autumn and ends in spring, but the true belly of it lies in winter. In autumn we can all feel excited about our team’s prospects. In winter we are  deeply immersed  as if in a blizzard. By springtime  only the sparkles are left on the cake for those invited to the party

It’s time to check draws and TV guides, I know we have a new coach . When I saw James Hird on  the telly I marveled at his wrinkle free face. Will he age as much as Bomber Thompson did at Geelong? Premierships and wrinkles seem to go together.

Lord knows what the TV schedule will deliver in this (ACT /NSW) part of the world. This may seem an odd concept for people living at the epicentre of football world to grasp. But  up here one never really knows until  games do or don’t appear on the screen. It’s  a matter of wait and see.

If the opening game of the season isn’t on til late I may be tempted to catch a last glimpse of Ricky and his men in their  seemingly endless summer campaign. Will he prove to be as resilient as my mountain daisies?

By this time next week, summer will be a distant memory and I’ll be studying  James Hird’s face closely.

Pamela Sherpa

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