Everybody writes about Spring
But let me tell you about Spring in Wellington
The wind softens, but only slightly
The streams flood, but in a merry way
The new plants push their flowers above ground, and only sometimes do their petals
get blown off
Everybody writes about Summer
But let me tell you about Summer in Auckland
The sun shines hot and burning, and the breeze is a warm buffet
The pavement singes your toes and so does the sand
The tar melts slowly on the road as you watch and so does your ice-cream
Everybody writes about Autumn
But let me tell you about Autumn in Dunedin
The trees are not native, and their leaves turn the most amazing colours
The air is not polluted, except by the sweet smell of chocolate
There is a bite in the wind when it blows from the South
Few people write about Winter
So let me tell you about Winter in Christchurch
It’s been known to snow, but not often
Even the most mundane object becomes a sparkling sculpture
There is a barren sort of beauty to the bare trees
