“This is our secret season.” June mornings were so crisp you could see your breath. July was the month of clear, cold stars and blue, cloudless days. In August, the whales passed by the coast of New South Wales, and the desert bloomed with tiny, defiant wildflowers. “This,” Miri laughed, “is when Australians wear puffy jackets. At 18 degrees.”
She pointed to the eucalyptus tree, its leaves silver and still.
“The land exhales,” she said. March was the last gasp of the wet—sudden, furious storms that vanished within the hour. By April, the nights turned soft. In May, the first fires were lit for warmth, and the turtles came up from the billabongs to lay eggs in the red dust. seasons australia months
Miri picked up a handful of red soil and let it sift through her fingers.
“This is the dangerous beauty.” September brought jasmine and wattle, the air electric with pollen. October was for kites—real ones, not birds—dancing on hot, rising winds. But November… November was the month of the fire dragon. The grass turned white. The sky turned orange. The cockatoos screamed and flew inland. “Spring here doesn’t whisper,” Miri said. “It roars. Then the first thundercloud of December appears, and we begin again.” “This is our secret season
“January, if you love the sound of rain on a tin roof. July, if you want to see the Milky Way. November, if you are brave. But never ask an Australian which month is best,” she added, winking. “We will argue for hours.”
Here’s a short story that weaves together the seasons and months of Australia. “This,” Miri laughed, “is when Australians wear puffy
Miri would smile, her dark eyes crinkling. “Spring,” she’d say, “is a European word. Here, we have six seasons. But for you? I’ll teach you the months the way the wind does.”