In her debut novel The Centre of Winter, Marya Hornbacher wrote such a brilliant description of the seasons, I have come to recall it often as the yearly cycle moves systematically on from one season to the next, and we descend into winter’s grip.
"All the seasons here in the north move toward their own end, except winter, which moves towards its centre and sits there to see how long you can take it. Spring twitches impatiently in its seat like a child wanting to go outside, straining toward summer, and summer, all lush and showy, tumbles headlong toward the decay of fall. Fall comes and goes so fast it takes the breath away, arriving in brocades of red and gold and whipping them off in only a few weeks, leaving a landscape ascetic, stunned with loss."
It’s a little debatable when the centre of winter occurs down here in Tassie. Is it smack bang in the middle of July, or midway between the winter solstice and spring equinox, or simply when it just feels coldest?
We’ve seen precious little snow visible on the northern side of the Great Western Tiers so far, though there have been a couple of decent falls on the top of the mountain. This year, July has been more about rain, with most of our snowfall occurring in August anyway, though sometimes in September, or October, or whenever it feels like it really. Tassie’s weather can be pretty fickle, or maybe I should rather say predictably unpredictable.
There have been a few occasions when most of our State has fallen under the spell of a mesmerising white blanket, though such times are fewer and further between as climate change reaches even our little island near the bottom of the planet, even if it is in close proximity to Antarctica. Some years ago it even snowed on the Tiers on Christmas Day; the fire was lit, the house was cosy, and it felt like a real Christmas. Winter can present itself at any time throughout the year in this part of the world. Even in summer it is rare for me to venture out without my warm jacket in the car, just in case.
There are those who suffer from the SADS, seasonal affective disorder syndrome, who would like to hibernate along with the animals that hive off and sleep through the harshest time of year, in order to escape the onset of what can often be a winter related depression. Fortunately, I’m not one of them. I don’t like being cold, but there’s something about autumn and winter that makes me feel so much more alive. Even naked trees fascinate me, their bare sculptural forms highlighted by their lack of foliage, and the abundance of fungi, don’t even get me started on that subject, I’ll either fascinate you or bore you to tears with my discoveries.
And of course, there’s the fire. What would I do without my fire. It provides both warmth and comfort and the best place for curling up with a book or a movie. Come that moment somewhere in spring when it is obvious the fire is no longer needed, I feel somewhat robbed of a companion as the lounge room reverts to a less cheery form of itself.
Am I ready to sit here to see how long I can take it? Too right I am.
