Spring turning into summer fascinates me, mainly for how it makes me feel.
I love summer, I love swimming, I love eating outside by the pool with candles and wine and I love my staple summer wardrobe of shorts, singlet and thongs. I love being warm. Dammit, I love being hot!
Which is why I wait in unhappy expectation for the first hint of chill, for the lengthening shadows, for that change in light where everything seems a bit brighter and the colours have lost a bit of their richness. It signals the end of everything I love about summer.
I did a quick google about the pyschological and physiological impact of seasonal change, and what little I understood was about studies of irritable bowl syndrome in mice (who DOES that job?), the effect on PMT in women (hell I could write a book about THAT today!) and other stuff that looked far too academic for me on a Thursday night. It's a simple formula in my eyes, when you're warm, and you've got lots of good stuff going on, well, you're happier.
Which is why at this time of year, like a stuck record (The Husband's words, not mine), I start talking about the change in season, the changing light, the "feel" in the air. At least I can take comfort in my predictability each year.
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