Truths of Old

It's been amazingly warm for the last two days. Summer has undeniably arrived when a bloke can fall asleep in a park reading "A Hat full of Sky" and wake up feeling dehydrated... and when milk goes bad in the fridge on it's due date.

It's strange, but I don't think I'll ever get used to the whole concept of seasons, despite having lived here for... what, going on eight years now?

I grew up with the eternal sunshine of a spotless country. (ugh)
Sure, we had "seasons" : early morning - hot, gentle sunshine, humid. midday - hot, blazingly sunny, humit. evening - short shower, humid. hot.
nightfall - humid. slightly chilly. occasional thunderstorm.
repeat ad infinitum.

This whole spring, summer, autumn, winter deal never ceases to amaze me. Every turn of the season leaves my mind wondering, as my body insists notwithstanding on taking it all for granted - was I really there? Was it really freezing last week, and am I really contemplating going outside to fry in the reflected sunshine off the Thames? (Granted, this being the UK, summer will probably last one week, and winter always lasts three fourths of the year)

Someday I hope to die somewhere where the seasons turn... but somewhere warm.