But this April was different. A letter had come from Sydney. His daughter, Mira, was coming home. Not for a visit—for good.
“Why did you come back?” Leo asked one evening. They sat on the veranda, cicadas sawing the twilight apart. april in australia
The third week brought a storm—not the theatrical cyclonic tantrums of summer, but a sharp, brief autumnal squall that flattened the guinea grass and left the air rinsed clean. Afterward, they walked to the lagoon. The jabirus were there, elegant and prehistoric, their black-and-white bodies reflected in water the colour of weak tea. But this April was different
Leo nodded. He understood silence.
The jabiru lifted its wings, a slow unfurling, and the moment passed. But something had shifted. April had done its work. Not for a visit—for good
“How’s the farm?” she asked.