Harley Davidson Charisma boots; Volcom Chilled Out velvet dress; Tanglewood Cove Creek five-string banjo; Three Arrows Leather Mind's Eye pouch; Cotton On Body bralette; The 2 Bandits Wrangler neck cuff; Spell and the Gypsy Collective Prism Bomb necklace; Rings: Lo and Chlo, Rejoice the Hands, all others vintage/market finds.
Sometime around a week, or maybe two weeks, ago, Melbourne
just dropped the seasonal switch and it suddenly became cold, windy, and drizzly in
general and miserable in particular. This is the kind of climate-specific
event that sends all expatriate northerners into a deep depression. When I
call my parents back on the NSW north coast, they’re still talking about sweltering
heat and swimming in the creek, and cracking their first tin of icy beer for
the afternoon.
It’s a thing we complain about every year, and we usually
spend the next five or six months (because that’s how long winter is – at least
– in Melbourne) sketching out plans to move home. I’m sure the city’s surly
weather has beaten back more than its fair share of northern migrants who just can not stand, any longer, the idea of only being able to swim for one
month of the year.
Regardless of how good the city might be.
But anyway, I’m just writing all this down to remind myself that I
feel this way every year. And that every year, we just batten down and try not
to get too sad about the short days and the wet shoes. Because there’s things
like paisley velvet, heavy leather, stiff denim and black lace; hot chocolates
and T.S. Eliot; extended banjo sessions; weird winter blooms; sketchbooks to
fill; infinite variations on turquoise, silver and brass jewellery; a
medium-sized brown dog; road trips in knits and blankets; fires and whiskey; new
moon night skies; a lover and a warm bed; 80s movies and TV shows; Eaten by
Dogs and John Lee Hooker; and a spring that will eventually show up.