Ashes

Charred wood and ash stink, after fires in Garigal high-country. A single crow cries road-side, on a black tree-post guarding road kill – a round brown wallaby with feet stuck-up. Ash covers ash: grey dust lies still... until rain drizzles sweet liquid, wets dirt, licks seeds, nudges life. Seeds swell, unfold, lift leaves to prick the air : grass-whiskers spring up. Fat globes of summer-rain spill between sandy soil-crumbs where roots sip silver water. One tomorrow, black-skinned scarred tree-trunks will sprout leafy chests, and white cockatoos will screech graffiti over skies patched with clouds. Once more, warm lips of wallabies will graze over green grasses, nibbling: blessed again.