My son visited from cold Melbourne
for the first part of his holiday.
We turned on drizzling rain.
Then he went up to the Gold Coast
to laze on Main Beach with a book.
He enjoyed some sparse, weak sun.
Now of course, he’s back home
and here we have warmth
every day, the mountains clear,
the sky wide and cloudless,
the river sparkling and the ocean
a shimmering vista of deepest blue.
Last Christmas my younger stepson,
also from Melbourne, came.
We said he brought the sun.
It was a hard year, that one. How gladly
we anticipated sweet summer.
He left. Then came the non-stop rain.
The sudden flooding drowned whole towns
and half a city, just a little north of here. Now
in this perfect Spring, we breathe in, and wait.
30 poems in 30 Days: 14, A change in the weather