One cold morning as the winter solstice neared, I woke up with a collapsed lung. This didn't seem very fair as I'd already had my completely random, debilitating injury for 2025 back in January when my ankle stopped working for no reason.

Apparently it's common for spontaneous collapsed lungs to affect tall men. It does seem particularly egregious though - when I go to sleep buffered by at least four pillows - to wake up with new injuries.

I did go to hospital about my collapsed lung a couple of days after the solstice after spending a week thinking it was some kind of weird covid that only affected one lung and didn't show up on RATs. The doctor checked out my X-ray and suggested a conservative approach as opposed to admitting me to stick a needle into my chest cavity and suck out the excess air. The conservative approach was appealing to me too. So since then I've had a couple more X-rays to see if it is getting worse or better.

According to the latest X-ray it is getting better. Could this collapsed lung be a metaphor for winter? The day with the shortest amount of lung, and then slowly but surely it expands each day and eventually there's a summer of massive, never-ending lung? And then after New Year's the roulette wheel spins again to determine what my journal entries will be about in 2026?

No, probably not. If it's a metaphor for anything (it's not) it's a metaphor for the collapse of metaphors. It's dark. I'm cold. I'm growing old. I'm not running out of visual imagery, I'm running out of novel feelings to allude to with them.

But at least the solstice is done with. Soon it will be sprung.

It was not a good idea to watch the first episode of True Detective Season 4 on a dark, windy night right before bedtime. Not because the horror themes make me feel scared. Because the Alaska themes make me feel cold.

It finally rained in Norway. We put on our winter jackets. I worked out how to use the Bosch coffee pod machine and filled my Circle K cup. We drove along the fjord to Loen and then into the valley towards Lovatnet.

I think the original plan back in Adelaide had been to do hiking on the Lodalen path, but I made the mistake of trusting the first result All Trails had for Lovatnet which met our distance/elevation/challenge criteria. So we ended up parking at the north-west end of the lake and walking along a fire/logging track for a great distance. Near the start we walking through a little Norwegian village very much asleep in the mist up a hill. We continued following the trail which was for the most part lined on both sides by trees and with only glimpses of the lake. But there were good glimpses, including a very convenient bench on which to sit and eat cereal and yogurt, with very good timing because after that the rain fell harder.

We followed the trail to where All Trails said that it ended - which wasn't true. We might have been able to follow it all the way to Lodalen, but that was very far away. There was one water crossing that was a bit of adventure to hop over.

After the walk back, we drove to Olden for more jacket shopping, along with beanies and moose-themed neck warmers. Then went back to Stryn for lunch, more ice-cream cake (wearing new jackets), and during a relaxing afternoon I drank the first of my regional beers.

Later on we made some dinner, then went out for an evening stroll up the hill that the apartment was on. Some walking trails went further up into the forest there, but we just stretched the legs while it wasn't raining. It was a good day for relaxing.

WINTER
The Stegastein Viewpoint. 5° air temperature. Sun slowly descending over the cliffs rising up from the Nærøyfjord. Numb fingers trying to spoon fruit and nut muesli into my mouth. Windproof jacket, fingerless gloves, pants, woollen socks.

SPRING
The Flåm Valley so green and saturated that it looks Photoshopped. Walking the route of the railway. Tulips growing on the side of the road. The sun warm on the face, but breeze bringing pollen and a slight chill on the return to the fjord. Shorts, hiking boots, pullover, hat and sunglasses.

SUMMER
Post-nap fresh strawberries and yoghurt on the patio in Aurland. Water shimmering reflecting the clearest of skies. Shorts, tshirt, bare feet on the grass to take in the view.

AUTUMN
What it is at my house. I took this photo of a red tree to round out this post.

Based on the current forecasts, it will have rained less than 20mm between the January day I bought tickets to Norway and the day my plane takes off this month.

This means that after a regular summer, and an autumn summer, I'll be experiencing a European summer. Albeit one likely to feature more rain. And more sun.

I conquered my first peak of May this morning, hopefully more to come.

Was pretty warm on the way up and down. Drove around this evening with every window down.

A collection of cameraphone photos from Summer 24-25.

A little strawberry left over from spring.

Blooming agapanthus on a morning stroll through North Adelaide.

Golden Hour at the beach.

Red hot chilies for a red hot summer day.

Up before the sun on another hot morning.

Nash doing her best Jaws impression with one of her takeaway sausage rolls during the Christmas bakery shut down.

Road trip wind turbines.

Family moments near mountains.

Victorian high country.

Not rain, sprinklers.

Up early for cheap fruit and vegetables.

Another day drifting closer to the sun.

Nash enjoys sunbaking.

Frangipani

Sand snail eggs reflecting the hot sun's fading light.

A joyous moment on a cafe visit before work and heat.

When the last week of spring hit 37° and the forecast showed December bringing with it an early taste of 40° it felt like the inevitable and familiar return of summer. Days of leaves at the front door, numb fingers trying to assemble breakfast, cravings for sun to penetrate clouds, all were forgotten. It was summer again. The fifth I would live through at my current address. I could already see the next few months spreading out before me. Early morning walks. Blocking out the sun with whatever I could. Air conditioning. Smoothies. Salads. Emerging into the air after dinner for beach walks or sunset beers. Summer Again. I saved my playlist with that name ready for the weeks ahead.

Summer provided all of that. And it provided injuries, stress, Christmas, family, house stress, and new music.

It's now March 19, and forecast for 33° tomorrow. Every day I wake up and think, Summer Again. But today at least one long lingering stress from the end of summer has been resolved. So it feels appropriate that I should post my summer playlist now, in the hopes that after this the drought might break and it will actually rain again.

Specific summer memories must include:
Cooking a lot of olive oil, salt, herbs and chicken.
So many cheap berries from Saturday morning markets strolls with Vanessa.
Enjoying the tiny difference that roller shutters made to the house temperature.
Floating in a pool.
A family dinner as sunset light filtered in from across the mountain tops.
Nash eating/drinking pup-a-cinos.
Doing a lot of holiday planning.
It almost never, ever raining.