It doesn't often happen as clearly as this - summer one week, autumn the next. We all know that this was a summer to reckon with, a settled summer of brown hills and no rain.
Perhaps the strongest image of it all for me was when I drove through Waikato a couple of weeks ago. It took me a while to identify the source of several little dust storms. It turned out they were kicked up by cattle being led either to a handout of feed or to the milking shed.
In Waikato! Cattle kicking up dust storms in the lush pastureland of Waikato! That's akin to sunshine during an English cricket match.
Then last week, another sign of the golden weather. I ended up taking the plunge into a swimming pool. On April 2!
I can't remember having an April swim in New Zealand before though there would have been a number when I lived in Australia. My water temperature threshold is about 25C, which tends to limit the season somewhat.
Exactly four days later, on April 6, I lit our living room fire for the first time this year. Suddenly autumn had arrived. The smell of burning bluegum filled the air and its glow took the chill off the living room.
Then, in the middle of the night, as if to hammer home that autumn had indeed arrived, daylight saving ended. I stayed up to watch it happen - we don't get out much - and I have to say I recommend it to others who don't get out much.
The change occurred at 3am on April 7 when suddenly, as if by magic, it became 2am.
Internal Affairs advised New Zealanders that they "may find it more convenient to put their clocks back by one hour before going to bed on Saturday night" but I'm made of stronger stuff than that and was going to tough it out and see in the change in person. So there I was, just before 3am, sitting up in my dressing gown to protect me from the autumnal air and waiting, waiting, waiting. Excitement was mounting as the time change grew closer and closer.
Then, quite suddenly, though right on cue, nothing happened. But it was now an hour earlier and I had experienced it in person. I felt enriched somehow. Even in my dressing gown, I felt that I was at the very vanguard of modern digital technology.
And, as if by magic, all our phones, computers and the like obeyed the command of whoever is in charge - it could be Bill Gates - of matters horological or chronological or whatever the correct adjective is.
All, that is, except my wristwatch, a relic from a bygone age; its hands had to be adjusted ... well, by hand.
I couldn't help but wonder where that hour goes. I suspect it's to the same place as lost socks, earrings, umbrellas and airline baggage. Or down the back of the sofa with the loose change and the TV remote.
When I awoke on Sunday morning I had to do some quick mental calculations. My phone and my Model T watch said 5.30am but I had to translate that into old money. Was it really 4.30am or 6.30am? This mental conversion needs to operate for a few days before it all comes naturally.
It's harder for pets because they lack logic. Feed time is feed time.
Anyway, the good news is that I won't need to adjust my watch again until September 25.
The bad news is that there is a winter to endure before that happens.