The summer's long hot days play over and over in our minds. Casting off the work shivers to put on the fun slippers. An end to wearing ties and selling lies. Waxing boards not penning reports. Reduce that pile of books next to the bed. Let your worries and wares seek their own salvation. Forget Babylon, time to loiter a while in the rolling gardens of the mighty vinopolis. Goodbye bin chickens, hello honey eater! We're free hair rollin' on south.
Weeks full of Sundays at the beach, the road trips along the coast, returning to natures supermarket, the place in between where desert meets the sea. The frenzy of Christmas then the calm of vacation. The revelry of New Year followed by the still heat of January.
The ebb and flow of small summer swells. Mornings spent rubbing the long sleepless nights from our eyes. Torpid afternoons spent slack lolly idle sprawled under the shadeof a palm. The smell of life antidotes thicken the dry air, we savour the shade and jeer at the sun. Always on the look out for a watering hole, an oasis to escape the holiday crowds if only for a little while. Lazy afternoons slide into airless nights spent drinking from the fountain of never-fail false idols. Bask in the free flowin’ Freudin babble.
The last days of summer reverberate in our glass. The last remnants of the good time jacuzzi swizzle around in ourhead. Perpetual Holidaze are soon to become memories, bottles catalogue the celebrations, all faded into one long blistering sun-drained haze until it rolls around again. We look forward to yesterday, it's not so far away.
We look forward to yesterday, it's not so far away. Tune in. Tune out.
The McLaren Vale Grape Wine & Tourism Association acknowledges the Kaurna people as the Traditional Owners of the Country where the McLaren Vale Region is situated today, and pays its respect to Elders past and present.