The Spring Surge

As 'August Mine' sinks to 'August Lost', my winter life boat succumbs to the unstoppable spring ocean.
Good wife Elizabeth, if not puritanical and angelical-she smokes, drinks, and is prone to occasional outbursts of strong cursing-is a wholesome, well intentioned woman dedicated to the nutrition and wellbeing of her husband and sons, and the bringing of peace and dignity to the last days of the geriatric residents at Salibury House.
In a serious error of judgement, Elizabeth brought home an 8 week old Jack Russell pup on August 2, despite my counsel not to do so. I do forgive her. She is headstrong at times. I accept that we're all the product of a rich confusion of genes conflated by the passions of our parents. Molly and Bill in Lib's case, and it must have been late in 1955. We recently celebrated Lib's 51st birthday on the 22nd.
I simply don't have time to describe the household mayhem that baby dog 'Pippa' has wrought. She has grown miraculously in three weeks, doubling in size. If she develops a brain, over time, I may well have a new challenge- to take two dogs on my walk. For now, I lock her in the laundry with a fresh bone and make my escape.

The magpies warble before dawn, a joyous song. The hillsides, valleys and roadsides are splashed with the yellow of wattle blossom and puffs of pink and white prunus. Shocks of red and pink camellia and rhodie blooms bring gardens to life, teeming with nectar seeking wattlebirds and spinebills .
It's impressive, the baton change from winter to spring. It takes some adjustment. By mid morning I'm taking off my shirt and removing the T-shirt I'm still in the habit of donning first thing. And, out of the habit of taking a drink bottle, I develop a thirst along the way.
It's a bit of a shock after the cold of winter, as was the sting I copped yesterday. I was picking foliage at home for my mixed bunches and noticed the bees flying heavily in the 25C sun. There were dead bees at the entrance to the hive, which is not unusual at the end of winter as the bees are mostly old overwintered adults nearing the end of their lifespan. I bent over to have a closer sticky beak, not wearing my glasses, and a guard bee made the proverbial beeline the two or three feet to my face and stung me in the left eyebrow. It must have smelled a little sweat on my brow. As happens early in the season, before the immunity to stings returns, particularly on the face, I've swelled up and look like I've been fighting and came off second best.
The only thing missing is rain. August has been worringly dry and I'm about to plant heaps of stuff. But if the ants in the pantry swarming all over Gord's sauce bottles are an indicator, there's rain coming. Oh for a wet September!