And right on cue - the end of November brings summer knocking at our doors. The days are longer and sunnier and warmer - and in Tasmania, that sun is harsher than you might think, it can bite if you're not careful, leaving stinging ripe red reminders to not forget the sunscreen next time.
Summer always has particular sensory memories for me and I'm sure for all of us. The grit of sand between your toes, the gasping rush of cold water as you wash away that sand before going inside - absolutely necessary if you're not to track the traces of your beach wandering through the house - to be avoided at all costs. The unmistakable waft of barbecued meat making its way down the street.
Then there are old old sensory memories as well - the ones of childhood. The sticky sweetness of stewed and jammed fruit and berries, more wafting food smells, but this time through a grandmother's kitchen - peaches, nectarines, raspberries, blackberries, strawberries. That first dabble of a toe in cool cool ocean and the bobbing to and fro with waves and salt spray. The heat and squeaking of sand when you race to your towel, warmed by the sun and because of it, smelling even more keenly of the laundry. Prickling asphalt on bare soles when walking back to the car and sun-baked leather and upholstery.
And I haven't even gotten to the ice cream yet. Happy summer days ahead.