By nine the paper’s on the floor, The toys lie still in morning heat. But past the flyscreen, voices rise New footsteps on the footpath meet. Someone’s brought a plate of slices, A bottle, or a Christmas cake. And now the kitchen fills with those Whose presence is the kind that makes The summer day feel like enough. It’s just that Christmas Comes in summer clothes No snow, no sleigh, Just light that shows The time we’ve spent. Thongs beside the back door, Cold drinks passed without a word. Children laughing near the hose, Old songs in the air are heard. It’s not the presents that they bring, But the presence that they share. Gum leaves stirring in the breeze, Cicadas hum the air This is Christmas in Australia, A day we know by heart. The tree leans slightly by the couch, Its tinsel bright in afternoon sun. The boxes hold what money buys But not the quiet everyone Shares when someone pulls a chair, Says your name, and stays awhile. No need for plans or finer things Just being here’s the style Of love that needs no show. It’s just that Christmas Wears a different light Not candle-glow, But sun so bright It tells the truth. Shade beneath the she-oak, The radio hums through the day. Laughter drifts and stories grow, Softly, in the same old way. It’s not the presents on the table, But the presence gathered near. Gum leaves whisper in the breeze, Their chorus warm and clear This is Christmas in Australia, A day we know by heart. It’s Nan who saves your favourite seat, The dog who rests beside your knee. The way the day just settles in And lets us simply be No grand display, just presence, plain and true. The lunch is done, the hats are gone, The radio plays soft and low. Grandad’s sleeping in his chair, One hand upon his knee below. The shadows stretch across the grass, The sprinkler ticks its steady beat. And no one’s rushing anywhere Just staying where they’re known, Where they belong, Where love feels real Without a word. The sun is high, the table’s full, The yard is quiet, calm, and slow. Trifle soft upon the bench, The radio’s golden glow. It’s not the presents that we bring, But the presence that remains. Gum leaves stirring in the breeze, The light that knows our names This is Christmas in Australia, A day we know by heart. The plates are stacked, the lights are low. Someone hums an old tune. You think of all the years before, And all the ones to come. Just presence. Just here. That’s Christmas.
