Spring in Sydney

Something in the city is sighing awake.
Lorikeet-noise. Jasmine
spilled over brick walls.
Something in the city has learned
to bloom without asking—
wisteria elbowing through
a rusted trellis,
jacaranda softening
concrete with purple.

Magpie shadow, has it
mercy? Or memory?
Sun-warmed footpath,
still cool in the cracks.
A waratah flares
somewhere behind the noise—
not a flag, but a hush.

Something in the city
has returned—
hatchling chirp.
Push of small leaves.
Even the fences hold their breath.

I did not mean
to step barefoot.
Did not mean
to smell the air
like it mattered.
But here comes frangipani,
here comes light at the end
of dinner.

Something in the city
calls the sky wider,
and we obey—
without language,
without plans.
Just walking.
Just noticing.

Daily writing prompt

What is your favorite season of year? Why?

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