Spring is sprung
Spring is sprung, the grass is riz
I wonder where the birdies is.
They say the birdies on the wing, but that’s absurd.
I always thought the wing was on the bird.
attributed to Anonymous/Ogden Nash/ obscure 19th Century poets.
This year Spring on the island has been preceded by nearly a week of wild weather and aggressive, damaging winds. Severe weather warnings have been posted with damaging winds clocking in at over 100km/h, with a nearby coastal town recording winds of 154km/h.
Massive trees crashed down and crushed cars, houses were damaged, roofs torn off, fences blew down and some folk were trapped when trees smashed their cars. Some train lines were shutdown and power outages left many people without electricity.
It’s been madness with abnormally high tides on the surf beaches and damaging surf conditions. Elevated sea levels are expected to continue until next week. And boats in harbours, estuaries and shallow coastal areas have been advised to return to shore.
Usually the advent of spring initiates a new wave of living. At the very first glimmer of sunshine Melbourne folk tear off their puffa jackets, scarves and beanies and recklessly bare their skin.
Most people in this neck of the woods like to believe that the first day of September means spring has arrived. And that the last few months of epic rainfall and chill factor is over. For despite all evidence to the contrary, we cling to our childlike belief that the arrival of spring means it’s time to get prepped for summer.
On Melbourne trams in early spring you will find optimistic girls in short shorts and thongs, shivering or covered in goose bumps. There will also be a few blokes baring their thighs and tattooed biceps while trying to stay hip. Difficult when hair and bushy beards are soggy from an unexpected downpour.
The tram may well be awash with rain streaming from wet umbrellas or the odd spilt café latte. You really have to watch where you plant your work bag on the tram’s floor as it gets kind of slippery in peak hour.
Once the tram doors slam shut,chilled passengers in summer clothes cheer right up because the heating is pumped up to maximum. The rest of us are sweating like piglets in our coats, trying to catch every blast of cold air from the opening and closing doors.
A bloke once commented to me on a city tram, ‘It’s so damned hot you could grow orchids on these fu*king trams’.
I recall a fine spring day, when a red-haired woman ran for the tram in Collins Street. She was in a bit of a flap as she fought her way past two male passengers who were diligently blocking the doorway. There’s usually at least one serial door blocker on every tram.
We lurched around the corner into Spring Street and I swayed into a businessman. He was very understanding even though I was standing on his toes. The tram driver was a madman who sped up as he approached a tram stop and then braked suddenly. The red-haired woman squeezed in next to me and managed to grab hold of a swinging strap.
The redhead kept losing control of her handbag, jacket and laptop. I helped her retrieve them. The tram was chockers. Kid’s pushers and senior’s Zimmer frames had created an obstacle course.
The woman fiendishly raked through her large handbag but relaxed when she found her iPhone. She beamed at me and cheerfully announced she was losing everything. Everything. And did I know where the tram was going? She thought she might be on the wrong tram. Going the wrong way. We got it sorted.
I idly wondered if she’d been indulging in a champagne luncheon at the posh hotel opposite but I’d got it all wrong. She leant in a bit closer and confided ever so quietly that she was losing her mind. I’m losing my mind! You have no idea, I’m like a madwoman. A madwoman!
Apparently, a few weeks earlier she’d met a charming man. She’d given up on men. But he was different. A special man. Kind, loyal, honest and generous. With a sense of humour.
She further revealed, I never thought it would happen at my age. In spring too! Just think, if I’d arrived three minutes late our paths would never have crossed. Never!
We laughed like drains at the audacity and randomness of fate, of life, of spring. Passengers glanced around seeking the source of mirth. There’s usually not much to laugh about on an overcrowded tram. Especially when the tram driver is a speed fiend and everybody’s flailing around trying to grab hold of the furniture.
The red-haired woman nearly missed her stop. Then she regrouped, lunged for the stop cord, dropped her bag, and sorted herself out – only to get stuck in the closing doors. But she managed to get off in time. In one piece with all her belongings.
As she made the curb, she turned to wave at me. I waved back and silently wished her well.
Photo: Venus and Primavera (Spring on the right) from: La Primavera (Spring), circa 1482 by Sandro Botticelli. From the collection of the Uffizi Gallery. There have been many interpretations but it is generally thought to be a mythological allegory about fertility and Spring. Some art historians believe they’ve found a disguised message in Primavera’s floral patterned gown.
Sandro Botticelli [Public Domain], via Wikipedia Commons.