“No,” Val said softly. “It’s just here .”
“So what happens next?” she asked.
Maggie looked up. The sky wasn't the pale, washed-out blue of a northern autumn. It was a deep, startling cobalt, the kind that made you feel like you could fall into it. The air smelled of dry earth and eucalyptus oil—not rot and decay, but a slow, quiet release. australia's seasons
“That’s backwards,” Maggie whispered. “No,” Val said softly
And for now, sitting on this porch with a warm mug in her hands, that felt like more than enough. The sky wasn't the pale, washed-out blue of
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.