Its the end of Summer. Of hot days and late sunsets. Of linen and wraps and froze days.
The footy is starting. Next week there will be coats in the stores and I'll be lusting over cashmere again. Soon I'll be buying vegetables and cooking soup. The evenings drawing closer, drawing colder. And I love winter. I'll jump into it head first.
But today it isn't cold. If I know Melbourne at all I think this warmth will cling on, in its Indian Summer way, for another month. It isn't time for wool until June. I think we're safe in cotton t shirts well into April. The leaves haven't started to turn yet.
Maybe my he'd is still swirling in the ice and strawberries at the bottom of a Poor Tom's G+T. Still deep in summer. Or late summer, whatever that it. This in-between place, where I'm still wearing crisp linen and white dresses.