Winter

It was so cold today, and it was a work day, so I went to buy some soup at the health shop at lunch. Marrakech Carrot.

I waved at the woman in front of me at the counter. I’ve never had a hairdresser before, but here I’ve found one with a bright smile and purple pixie cut, and I will be forever loyal.
Winter. We are in it. It doesn’t get any darker than this. She said.

Only lighter from here on in, though. I said, and added, I’m coming to see you soon.

And I went on to explain how I would be leaving for three months in August for the other side of the world where we would leap into summer, and I would need her, through hair styling and long conversation, to help prepare my transformation into my summer self.
She told me she would look forward to it and we parted ways on the street as I walked back to work in the icy wind.

I’m putting aside all the boxes in the storeroom because I need them at home to pack up and store our belongings.

It will be strange to leave this green house. We are going away, but the landlords were going to move in anyway. They live interstate, and from there they directed the destruction of our backyard. Once a lovingly-crafted, buddhist oasis, it now boasts a shed that could house a small plane in my least favorite colorbond colour (dune). Somebody lovingly landscaped our yard, putting plants into the ground, imagining the day when the shrubs would unite and the garden would be lush. The grass is now mud and cement, and I try not to think of that person on their hands and knees.

It is a strange thing to make your home in someone else’s investment, and live with someone else’s choices,though it is strange to own land at all.

According to my father, Hemingway once said that everyone should own land to grow their own potatoes. The land is dormant now but when we come back in Spring it will be time to plant.

Happy Solstice.

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