night-long vigil ―
the glow of red
on his cheeks
A sprinkling of fine grey covers the landscape, transforming it to monochrome. This bush I’ve walked a thousand times is alien. The cladding gone. It is naked. I look into the heart of bushland — at its skeletal structure — into the anima of earth.
I tramp lower into the gully, following the twisting contours of the creek bed. Rocks of all sizes flaunt the smoothness of their curves, variety of outline, the splendour of invulnerability. They rise, like Phoenix, from the ashes, tombstones to a million yesterdays.
In time my bush will dress herself again. But here and now I glimpse her very essence.bushfire ―
all the shapes