“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.”

Here’s a short story that weaves together the seasons and months of Australia.

Miri picked up a handful of red soil and let it sift through her fingers.