Australia's Seasons ((link)) -

The old calendar on the wall said April, but the air on Maggie’s skin said otherwise. Back home in Toronto, April meant the rotten, grainy crust of snow melting into grey slush. Here, on her aunt’s porch in Melbourne, April meant the first real bite of autumn.

And for now, sitting on this porch with a warm mug in her hands, that felt like more than enough. australia's seasons

Maggie looked up. The sky wasn't the pale, washed-out blue of a northern autumn. It was a deep, startling cobalt, the kind that made you feel like you could fall into it. The air smelled of dry earth and eucalyptus oil—not rot and decay, but a slow, quiet release. The old calendar on the wall said April,

“June,” Val said, gesturing with her mug toward the shed. “That’s when the real cold comes. Not your cold, mind you. Ours. Damp, creeping cold that gets into your bones because the houses are built to let the summer breeze through. The hills will turn purple with the jasmine. The wattles will go bonkers—yellow, fluffy explosions everywhere. And the magpies will stop swooping and start singing their spring songs, even though it’s the dead of winter.” And for now, sitting on this porch with

“That’s backwards,” Maggie whispered.

“So what happens next?” she asked.