On the way to Melbourne in October

On the plane, the grass silvered by the wind as it is tufted by the sun. Turned, lit and dancing. I watch the light start to change as we taxi and I wonder if this is the start of a protracted farewell?
If it is, I know with a deep calm that whilst it will be difficult and painful, I won't be beset by the same keening panic as before.
We rise, and Perth's dear minimalist skyline appears in the afternoon haze - as if soft filters had been applied.
As if sketched in charcoal the buildings shimmer in grey-brown. We rise higher and beyond the city, the sea - an undefined body. And before the city, the river - a shining golden snake glinting in the just setting sun; the just setting afternoon.
We bank sharply left and now there is the wing - just the wing and the sky and the changing colours. As we track east and the sun abates more rapidly there is that colour. That unique colour the thought of which used to rip at my heart when I lived away. That singularly Australian mix of not quite-night and no longer day. And now, edging closer to the east in this magical tin box - again, there is no panic. No aching fear of the change.