I long for summer.

I long for evenings spent sitting on our front porch, sipping chilled Australian wine, the rich, sweet smell of jasmine, the hum of cicadas muffling the sound of distant trains and traffic as the sky slowly turns from blue to pink to lavender and slowly to black.

I long for the midnight breeze that blows over my sweaty limbs as I sleep by an open window, the curtain gently kissing my naked skin in the moonlight.

I long for the hard, bright heat of the early afternoon sun, penetrating through thin cotton, possessively marking me with a welcome red glow.

I long for a deserted beach before dawn, the smell of the deep black ocean, the crash of invisible waves, the spray that covers my face and makes me tingle with the excitement of life.

I long for the Botanical Gardens on a hot day, the air full of the sweat of steaming plants. The running, laughing and shrieking as we play under the sprinklers just as we did when we were children and the world was as innocent as we were.

I long for the feeling of youth only summer can bring. The passion and lust for life, for experiences, for each other. I long for the promise of joyous excitement every summer day brings.

I long for summer storms that fill the sky at dusk. The magnificent rods of lightning, the echoing rumble that follows.

I long for standing in the cooling rain that comes with these storms, washing away the salt of sea, sand, sweat, leaving me feeling reborn.

I long for the smell of coming rain. The dusty air compressed back to the earth by fat delicious droplets of sweet moisture.

I long for coffee on the porch on weekend mornings. The stillness of the street, the gradual awakening of the world as the day heats up.

I long for weekend barbecues with my friends, the sizzling meat, the crisp salads, the refreshing bitterness of a VB stubby. The music and laughter and conversations that go way into the night.

I long for the delicious contrasting sensations of scorching, dry sand, and cool, enveloping ocean, the water washing away the rest of the world, and every fear I have with it.

I long for the salty taste of my lover's skin on my tongue. Of making love in heat, of the slipperiness of our bodies as summer's passion stirs our own, private monsoon. The way my fingers glide over his back. The way the smell of love perfumes the room. The penetrating glow of his blue, blue eyes. The incredible passion that forces our bodies together to create even more heat and sweat. The lust which is just as strong and divine as it was the first time.

My senses long for summer. The smells are some how richer, deeper, stronger and more startling in their assault. Scents that force recognition and leave you wanting.

The sight of exposed skin, the way colours are so much brighter and more alive in the glow of a hot hot sun, the shimmer above a melting road, the contrast between light and dark.

The sensation of a dripping ice block on sunburnt skin, of oils, and lotions, and cool, invigorating showers. The frenzy of a hot, dry wind tousling my hair as I step out of the sea. The ocean lapping at my ankles as I explore rock pools at low tide. The hand of my love pressed against mine.

The taste of ripe, tropical fruit. The licking of mango juice from up my forearm after devouring its sweet flesh. The best tasting fish and chips in the world, simply because they are eaten while watching the sunset over the bay.

My ears delight in the singing of birds, the squeals of excited children, the roar of the surf, and the silence that comes with a cool evening breeze.

I long for the abundance of life and living that shows itself in the hottest months. Birds bathing under the garden hose, cats basking on footpaths, people crawling out of seclusion and facing the world and each other as if every sensation was new and beautiful. Summer fills us with hope, innocence and a belief that the world is a beautiful place, and reminds us that life is for living.

I long for summer.

I long for summer.

I wish for the seemingly endless days of blue skies. I miss walking into a wall of thick heat that forces you to blink from the glare.

I walk along cold, dark November streets trying to grasp the memories of southern summers to warm my chilled bones. Hunkering down in my heavy coat, muffled in my scarf, hands covered in purple leather and ears protected with red fur, I laugh. I have never needed to own such a heavy coat in the past, let alone three different weights and lengths for different levels of cold.

I long for summer. For the simple choice of t-shirt and skirt or trousers. Sandals or shoes. I wish to giggle at the ridiculousness of wearing all black in blazing sunshine and the vanity that compels me to don a PVC corset for Christmas functions and sweat, a lot. I miss the bite of the sun to let you know you are in danger of burning. I wish for the stickiness and chemical smell of sunscreen with a glue-like thickness and the scrape of a hair brush against an unprotected scalp that reminds you to wear a hat next time.

The smell of minced pies and mulled wine whip across a cobble market square bathed in the light of Christmas decorations. I hanker for crisp white wine with turkey eaten on a 30 degree day. To complain about the mosquito bites while watching the sunset through BBQ smoke.

I reminisce about cars becoming ovens, steering wheels too hot touch and seat belt clasps that almost burn at a touch. I long to get into the car and drive endless highways, never catching the heat haze and being concerned about the low dams and dust bowls paddocks. Having to watch for Kangaroos at dusk as they move from the shade to feed, taking no heed of the racing traffic, bounding in front of you causing your life to flash before your eyes.

I want to hear the screech of children running under sprinklers not the whiz, fizz and bang of fire crackers.

I need to smell the fresh smell of summer rain on the breeze, the acrid stench of a BBQ or bushfire, the scent of sunshine in freshly dried washing. All I smell is the closed smell of too many bodies in damp wool overcoats jammed into carriages that rattle in dark tunnels.

I love the greenness of a damp countryside but am listless for the khaki and olive greens of the gum trees. The crack of dry sticks and the scratchiness of dry bracken, the call of the whipbird and keeping a wary eye out for snakes and other things that bite.

I long for clear skies, especially the night sky. To see the Southern Cross even through orange city haze. To be able to leave the city easily and see the glittery heavens in all their glory.

I wish to wilt in days of high temperatures and sticky nights. Sleeping with all windows open hoping to catch a breeze, the buzz of a fan soothing you into slumber, having an excuse to not dry off from a shower and leap into bed damp to escape the heat. Trying escape days of searing heat by retreating to the air conditioned dark of the movie theatres. To watch with relief as a cold front comes through, plummeting temperatures and some times rain, in big fat soaking drops with the crack of thunder. Being unable to sleep due to the heat seems to be more appealing than overcoat days and continual drizzle.

I long for a summer that is months long. Not mere weeks, where any brief appearance of the sun seems to spur English men to remove their shirts. I wish for a summer that is so long I am heartily sick the heat, flies, water restrictions, sunburn and bushfires.

I long for summer of old.

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