Somehow I seem to forget, from one year to the next, how strange Spring can be, here...
I should take photos and add text and make myself a "Spring" page, or perhaps two, so that I can refer to them in early August, to remind myself of the fun and games that lie ahead...
When the wattle's glowing pale yellow, with fluffy flowers (sprays, I am assured, is the term, according to the nice lady at the florist's, ha ha), the first traces of hayfever set in, and I find myself surrounded by folk who sniff, constantly... constantly... like a dripping tap... like a bloodhound on a scent... have I said "annoying", yet? ha ha.
It does, of course, get worse...
The flowers die, and become a dull, matte gold, but lose nothing of their potency - in fact, I believe that things do, indeed, get worse... ha ha.
I go to the supermarket to pick up a couple of boxes of tissues, and they've become as rare item, ha ha.
Tissues? Aisle eight, just down from the hen's teeth... ha ha.
Row upon row of empty shelves, where only the tags remain as a hint to what was once there - Aloe vera infused... ha ha.
They've already sold out of the cute puppies and kittens print boxes, and they're ordinary tissues... ha ha.
And when even the generic brand has been stripped back to a few boxes hiding at the back of the bottom shelf, you know that the blooming wattles are, indeed, Blooming Wattles... ha ha.
🙂
