Australia's Seasons 【UPDATED】

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.

“So what happens next?” she asked.

She pulled her cardigan tighter, not because she was cold, but because she finally understood. Australia’s seasons didn’t turn on the calendar. They turned on the scent of the rain coming up from the south, on the angle of the shadows under the peppercorn trees, on the quiet promise that even in July, the world would not freeze—it would only rest. australia's seasons

“That’s backwards,” Maggie whispered. The old calendar on the wall said April,

Maggie took a sip. “It’s strange,” she said. “Everyone at home is posting about ‘spring cleaning’ and tulips. Meanwhile, you’re wearing a cardigan and talking about the autumn leaves.” “So what happens next

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

“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.”