Across the Central West, parents are leaving their warm shelters. Their eyes blink as they slowly adjust to the sunlight, and they shed their winter Oodies, revealing freshly ironed work uniforms underneath.

Their young stir cautiously beneath heated blankets, the remnants of their winter feast scattered around them. Dorito wrappers and Pizza Shapes boxes fall to the bedroom floor as they crawl towards their parents, no longer accustomed to early rising after sleeping until midday during their winter hibernation.

Doors open, and soon streams of parents and children alike rejoin their packs, moving slowly towards the school gates.

The great migration has begun.

Within the pack, the young greet each other playfully, having only conversed via Roblox for the past 16 days. Soon, a pecking order is re-established, with those heralding their Spotify Premium accounts and VIP status in Dress to Impress naturally taking the lead.

Deep within the pack, a youngling laments the loss of her Frank Green water bottle, left behind at netball in May. Older children gently guide her towards the communal water hole: the bubblers outside toilet block B.

Another child cries out for a forgotten library book. Although a summer parent may have turned back for it, in winter only the strongest survive.

Onward they trudge.

On the other side of town, a teacher emerges. Having spent the last two weeks experiencing freedom in their natural habitat, they too trudge forlornly back into captivity. They move slowly at first, clutching reusable coffee cups and staring wistfully towards the horizon. Soon, they will once again be surrounded by the young.

The teachers know they are outnumbered. Their only hope is caffeine, extensive training and, for a small but increasingly well-diagnosed percentage of the young, Ritalin.

At the gate, the individual tribes reveal themselves. Chatty parents with hatchlings at home in the nest grasp the brief chance to be with peers.

Working parents, for whom today is simply another day, acknowledge each other with the smallest of nods before disappearing into their cars to be transported to their offices. The harsh fluorescent lighting is now their natural habitat, and the hum of the photocopier penetrates the walls around them calls to them.

Older parents who have done this annual migration many times erupt the calm as their horns blast through the grounds. “Get out of my way with your piece of s*** hatchback,” they call out, with a voice worn down by the years.

And then, a predator slinks along the school fence, observing her prey. Avoiding the danger of the older parent, she selects a kindergarten mum. She moves closer.

Then pounces. The P&C flyer is thrust upon the unsuspecting victim.

Across the road, the local coffee shop senses the approaching stampede. Extra almond milk is dragged from the storeroom. Paper cups are stacked high, and the youngest staff member is moved away from the register for their own protection.

The barista checks the machine. It is ready.

Inside the school office, an administrator quietly restocks the Band-Aids and places a fresh box of tissues within reach. The lost property basket has been emptied, though all involved know this is temporary.

The lone printer hums to life. Somewhere, a laminator begins to warm.

The school counsellor checks their diary and takes a long, slow breath.

In the staffroom, the last clean teaspoons are counted. Seven.

It will not be enough.

Within the school grounds, a weary principal surveys the returning herd. Years of experience have sharpened their instincts. Within seconds, they identify the young most likely to require their attention before morning tea. They take another sip of Nescafe before summoning the strength to stand at their desk, ready and somewhat willing to tackle another term.

And as the first bell echoes across the winter landscape, the gates close and the last of the young disappears into the pack.

The migration is complete.

For parents, teachers and young alike, the weeks ahead will test their strength, patience and ability to locate a missing hat. But for now, they have survived the journey.

Another school term has begun.