Australia's Seasons !exclusive! File

“Tea?” Her aunt Val appeared, holding two mugs. “Earl Grey. It’s that kind of afternoon.”

Val laughed, a low, rusty sound. “That’s the trick of this place, love. You have to unlearn the stories the North told you. Christmas isn’t about snowmen; it’s about sweating in front of a fan with a pavlova and a beach towel. Easter isn’t crocuses; it’s the last long weekend before the weather turns properly crisp.” australia's seasons

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

She watched a single bronze leaf from the liquidambar tree peel away and spiral onto the lawn. It landed next to a jacaranda seed pod that looked like a wooden truffle. The sun was still generous, but it hung lower now, slanting through the eucalyptus at a shy angle, turning the backyard the colour of honey. “That’s the trick of this place, love

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.”

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.

“That’s backwards,” Maggie whispered.