By Lynn Elder
The change of seasons comes in a rush Of hot air and wilted grasses in the bush. No need to clear out the ash and stoke the fire As ceiling fans whir above, and with a beer In hand the farmer wipes the free-flowing sweat From his sun-beaten face, and without a beat Flicks off the pesky blowflies settled on his work shirt. His wife tucks her tea towel in the band of her skirt, Then says as she leans wearily against the kitchen wall. "It's too bloody hot to eat anything at all!".
Escape to the High Country... 
It is so interesting to read this now as I am on the other side of the equator and we are deep into the cold of winter. -20 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. Too cold to eat unless you want an oatmeal popsicle!
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We have just enjoyed breakfast outside on our veranda and it was 26 degrees Celsius. Should get to 34 today. I have experienced a north of England winter and that biting wind. But it does get very frosty here in winter. Keep up the great work with your blog.
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