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.
“That’s a good thing, love,” Maggie laughed. “Without them, no apples. No plums. No honey on your toast.” spring time in australia
Maggie smiled, scratching Blue behind the ears. “So do I, love. So do I.” Lila looked out at the jacaranda tree, now
Maggie’s granddaughter, Lila, arrived from Melbourne for the school holidays. To Lila, spring in the country was a chaotic, glorious explosion. The first afternoon, she ran inside with a shoe full of mud and a handful of “frogs”—actually pink and white patrols of clover flowers. now a soft