But spring in Australia also has a temper. One afternoon, the air went still. The cockatoos fell silent, then screamed and flew in a panicked white cloud towards the mountains. The sky turned the colour of a bad bruise. A southerly buster roared up from the Snowy Mountains, bringing a hailstorm that sounded like someone was throwing handfuls of gravel at the corrugated iron roof. Lila hid under the kitchen table, but Maggie just poured herself another tea.
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. spring time in australia
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. But spring in Australia also has a temper