The time

When the cold days

Slowly loosen their grip

On our neighbourhoods,

When heavy blankets

Are folded away

Until next year,

When winter coats

Are sent to the dry cleaners.

When the jacarandas

Come out to play

When the early rains

Of the planting season

Fall on dry and thirsty soil

Ushering in that pleasant earthy, musty smell

That brings back warm memories

From childhood.


Windy as ever

Yet a solid reminder

That we are well on our way

To the end of the year.

Nine months in,

Enough time for a baby

To bake in a mother’s belly,

Nine months in

To a year

That seems to have started just yesterday.

Yet here we are.

In September.

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