“Nanna, there are bees everywhere!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide.
“That’s a good thing, love,” Maggie laughed. “Without them, no apples. No plums. No honey on your toast.”
“That’s the smell of new things,” Maggie said. “In Australia, we don’t get a gentle spring. We get a sprint. Everything has to happen fast—the flowers, the storms, the baby animals. Because summer is just around the corner, and it’s a beast. So we enjoy this while we can.” spring time in australia
She was right. As quickly as it came, the storm passed. The sun re-emerged, setting the wet, shattered gum leaves on fire with diamond light. They went outside to find a double rainbow arcing over the barn, and the sweet, petrichor smell of rain on baked earth.
“It smells like flowers and dirt and rain,” Lila said quietly, hugging her knees. “Nanna, there are bees everywhere
Later, as dusk settled—a long, golden dusk that didn’t belong to any other season—Maggie and Lila sat on the veranda. The last of the kangaroos were hopping back into the bush, their joeys’ heads poking out of pouches. The air was cool again, but not cold. It was the cool of a perfect, forgiving evening.
Maggie smiled, scratching Blue behind the ears. “So do I, love. So do I.” No plums
The first sign wasn’t a date on the calendar. For Maggie, who had lived through fifty Australian springs on her farm in the Southern Tablelands of New South Wales, it was a scent. One morning in late August, she stepped onto her veranda with a cup of black tea, and the air had changed. The sharp, eucalyptus bite of winter was softening, replaced by something sweet and hopeful—the first tiny blossoms of the wattle.