Summer’s officially over. How can I be so sure? Because, like clockwork, as soon as the calendar flicks over to March, the fog rolls in around the Hunua Ranges and we wake here to a marvellous cloak of mist every morning. It’s all rather poetic, even if it does mean that it’s time to shake the spiders out of my gumboots again. I can no longer sneak out to feed the chooks each morning wearing my jandals. The dew-drenched grass is super slippery when wet.
(*I realise it’s actually autumn here in New Zealand, but I can’t resist a bit of alliteration).