As Seasons Fleet

Though the autumn colours are still bright in our gardens and along the hillside across the valley, already nature is preparing for spring.

The wattle may still be three or four months from flowering, but the delicate buds are already reaching out to brighten the coming dullness of winter. Not far away, the pine is readying itself for the return of warmth and light, as the tightly coiled embryos of the next summer's growth prepare to explode.

Our landlords, the resident Magpies, are still minding the last of the youngsters they hatched out in previous seasons, even though it can fend for itself quite well if they are not present to meet its demands.  Yet they are also vigorously guarding their nesting tree against future need.  In the lake, and the stream that runs down from it, the Perch are fat with roe - and, though we are yet to feel winter's blast, already all the signs of the coming spring and summer are visible to anyone who walks slowly through our valley and over our mountain.

Yet things are not quite as they should be - one sign of spring in my part of the mountains is the golden dusting of pollen, from the Radiata Pines, that drifts down into the cracks in the footpaths, and filters the light coming through any windscreen left in the open.  It is autumn, but our Pinus gold dust is present again, if in smaller quantities than the spring flowering produces. The Elderberry has flowered again, too, and the Jonquills are appearing around the garden.

The seasons in Australia are never quite as predictable as they are in many parts of the world, but I am not sure what to make of this.  I can watch this ebb and flow of seasonal life, and work it into the stories I tell - to myself and to the world.  Time will tell how pertinent those stories are.