In Australia - Spring Time

Lila looked out at the jacaranda tree, now a soft, ghostly purple in the twilight. A single fruit bat flew overhead, a dark kite against the last smear of pink.

She was right. As quickly as it came, the storm passed. The sun re-emerged, setting the wet, shattered gum leaves on fire with diamond light. They went outside to find a double rainbow arcing over the barn, and the sweet, petrichor smell of rain on baked earth.

The first sign wasn’t a date on the calendar. For Maggie, who had lived through fifty Australian springs on her farm in the Southern Tablelands of New South Wales, it was a scent. One morning in late August, she stepped onto her veranda with a cup of black tea, and the air had changed. The sharp, eucalyptus bite of winter was softening, replaced by something sweet and hopeful—the first tiny blossoms of the wattle. spring time in australia

Spring in Australia doesn’t tiptoe in like an English visitor. It arrives like a surfer catching a break—all at once, bright and reckless. Within a week, the paddocks that had been brown and hard as biscuit were suddenly dotted with a thousand different greens. The ironbark trees, which had stood skeletal against the grey winter sky, began to fizz with new leaves. And the noise! The magpies were warbling their territorial, caroling songs at 4:30 in the morning, and the raucous screech of the sulphur-crested cockatoos meant they were stripping the almond tree in the back garden.

“It smells like flowers and dirt and rain,” Lila said quietly, hugging her knees. Lila looked out at the jacaranda tree, now

But spring in Australia also has a temper. One afternoon, the air went still. The cockatoos fell silent, then screamed and flew in a panicked white cloud towards the mountains. The sky turned the colour of a bad bruise. A southerly buster roared up from the Snowy Mountains, bringing a hailstorm that sounded like someone was throwing handfuls of gravel at the corrugated iron roof. Lila hid under the kitchen table, but Maggie just poured herself another tea.

Maggie smiled, scratching Blue behind the ears. “So do I, love. So do I.” As quickly as it came, the storm passed

Later, as dusk settled—a long, golden dusk that didn’t belong to any other season—Maggie and Lila sat on the veranda. The last of the kangaroos were hopping back into the bush, their joeys’ heads poking out of pouches. The air was cool again, but not cold. It was the cool of a perfect, forgiving evening.