November, month of examinations and resignations. Tense, normal, when one-more-year asks for more explanations, less paperwork c/- our friendly robot. Roses and eucalypts scent the air after rain. December, month of drinkies and outings. Keep to the left side, watch for trucks and drunks. Bling in itself replaces the thing-in-itself, as if they were ever the same. Families re-visit futures scarcely imagined at the crib. January, when everyone goes away, into sun and surf, moonlit bush. Sounds loud blue, bright as light, take us into heat that could catch and burn the place black. It’s snoozy novels behind cane blinds.