Dappled sunlight trickles through the eucalyptus overstory.

The faded bark of a swamp gum crunches underfoot.

An afternoon breeze thaws out the wattles,

scattering their scent and seed.

Lorikeets demand to be heard.

Pedestrians wave down passing cars,

a mark of solidarity more than anything;

“Watch out! There’s an echidna on the road.”

Then the cold sweeps in startlingly, 

with the patter of possum steps 

on the tin roof at night.

The presence of a wintry gleam on the car windshield

is an inconvenience at first—

we learn to live with it though, 

love it, even.

Broad beans bulge out of the soil,

thriving in the winter sun. 

Quite at its leisure, the downpours cease 

and the remaining tears drip from the withered leaves

of weakened but enduring flora. 

Nature’s lamentation has dried up like a snowberry in the sun,

and silence is as abundant as the cloudbursts had been.

Sorrow gives way to cathartic sunlight.

An end to midyear despondency.

The cycle begins again.