And for now, sitting on this porch with a warm mug in her hands, that felt like more than enough.
They sat in silence as the light thickened into gold. A kookaburra started its maniacal laugh somewhere down the street, and Maggie realized she’d stopped shivering. She’d been waiting for snow. But what she got instead was this: an autumn that felt like a deep, gentle breath before a winter full of purple flowers and birdsong.
“No,” Val said softly. “It’s just here .”
Maggie took a sip. “It’s strange,” she said. “Everyone at home is posting about ‘spring cleaning’ and tulips. Meanwhile, you’re wearing a cardigan and talking about the autumn leaves.”
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.
“Tea?” Her aunt Val appeared, holding two mugs. “Earl Grey. It’s that kind of afternoon.”
“That’s backwards,” Maggie whispered.