And then, as if a switch has been flipped, the heat breaks. March is not yet autumn on the calendar, but the quality of light changes. The shadows lengthen. The cicadas, which have been screaming in the eucalypts all summer, finally fall silent. The fruit flies vanish. You sleep without a fan for the first time in months.
By February, the energy has shifted. There is a weariness to the heat. The grass is no longer green but a brittle, yellowed mat. Water restrictions are in place in many towns. The air conditioners have been running for weeks, and the electricity grid groans under the load. But February is also the month of harvest and abundance. Stone fruit is at its peak: peaches, plums, nectarines, and cherries spill from market stalls. Tomatoes are fat and sweet. Corn is sugary. The zucchinis are so plentiful that people lock their car doors at traffic lights for fear of being gifted another bag by a gardening neighbour. months of summer in australia
But December is also the month of "build-up" in the tropical north. In Darwin, Cairns, and Broome, the air becomes a wet blanket. Humidity sits at 80 percent before breakfast. The sky piles high with cumulonimbus clouds each afternoon, promising a drenching that never seems to come—or arrives as a violent, theatrical storm that lasts twenty minutes and leaves the streets steaming. This is the season of mangoes. They fall from trees, heavy and sweet, and the smell of fermenting fruit hangs in the air. And then, as if a switch has been flipped, the heat breaks