Equinoctal Winds

It's blowin' up a storm. Literally. When I bike to the top of the hill there's dust in the middle distance blowing down from the high country. I remember going to Mt Oakden to see my aunt, Marie, who lived up there for 50 years. When there was a nor wester the air was hazy with dust. Layers of it deposited over the Canterbury Plains in ages past. It's a force to be reckoned with. Charged ions and the heat make us all snappy and moody, give people migraines. It's the last week of term...my mantra,  "No blood on the carpet." By the time I see my Year 13's I've lost interest too, so we chat. It's been a long year. Today the US marks a Covid milestone, 200,000 dead. 

I drive Chris's 4-wheeler to pick up valuable stuff in the garage, and it turns out my lawn mower is ready. I need to go over the lawn first to get rid of random gravel. Used to fill the dig out for the house, and to raise the foundations 500 mm. In the end we can only fit one big item in the back. I choose Marg Hamilton's painting, bought two years ago, of the Old Woman Tor above Clyde. I don't remember what it looks like. Ian has painted the first layer of water sealer on the concrete. Next steps with the floor.