Out of the Flames
nother giant eucalypt explodes, releasing a roaring projectile which
soars
through the air. Only the lucky will escape this rocket's random target.
Fire charged gusts fan the forest and threaten surrounding dwellings while intensely hot draughts from the roaring furnace terrorise those of us who have chosen to swap the monotonous greys of a polluted suburbia with nature's paradise of lush blue, green. We, who prefer the sweet chime of the bell bird and the throaty laugh of the Kookaburra to the ear splitting shrill of factory and locomotive sirens. We, who flee from the perilous fumes of the highway, only now to find ourselves trapped inside the blazing framework of a giant bonfire.
Nothing will erase the memory of that day, early in January.
First the phone call. Followed by shocked silence of disbelief.
"Ninety per cent of our National Park is alight."
Numb... and yet compelled to witness the final moments; to somehow show that someone cares, we gather for the fray.
"Deliberately lit! Arson", they say...
The battle is in full swing. Giant red dragons, in rigid contrast to their nimble masters, spume incessantly. One thousand ordinary men, gleaming in their stark black and yellow, armed with the weapons of fortitude, tenacity and past experience, have travelled hundreds of miles to risk their lives; to war with an opponent of awe inspiring and ferocious stature. Concentrated effort may save lives but will a merely human army be able to quell a flaming foe of such magnitude?
Well into the long night our heroes, mostly volunteers, snatch a drink but scanty rest between shifts, continuing their battle with little regard for personal safety. Ignoring parched throats, singed eyebrows and the gritty smarting of raw eyes, they fail to surrender to the same fear which spurs them on. Boldly, they confront an archenemy who rages relentlessly across thousands of hectares of national heritage.
Even the elements spurn our allies. Forty degree temperatures prevail as north winds gather to gale force, in their attempt to purposely hamper the fire fighter's efforts. Evil yellow tongues cackle as they lick the blackened bark in the wake of man's feeble attempt to avert their satanic desecration.
It is impossible to save the forest and we weep. We weep for the heart ache of the trees. We grieve with all small creatures, who must suffer such a callous and untimely end. Our tears are shed for the incineration of effort and hope on the part of the park rangers and caretakers of our beloved land.
Melaleuca and acacia will regenerate. Not so, sapling members of the rainforest who may take two hundred and fifty years in their attempt to regain the full stature of their forefathers.
A slight grey wallaby hops further into the scorching conflagration to escape the heat. Another victim. Birds have long since ceased to sing and the Kookaburra no longer laughs. We long again for the abrasive "get up" cry of the wattle bird but his pleas will never be heard above the thundering roar which aches in our ears.
Chaos rules the forest.
Prayers are chanted throughout the country but still she scorches beneath fire and sun.
Thick black smoke now coils through the trees and sits in blanket form above. It is dark. There are no stars in the sky. Only a hazy aurora remains as brilliant lanterns filter through the dense smoke. An acrid smell lingers unpleasantly in the lungs. Water continues to cascade over skinny, black skeletons but never was a flood so desired. A host of onlookers remain as guardians to defy the enemy.
Glassy eyed, a lone arsonist stands transfixed, while his limbs tremble in fearful delight at the magnitude of his achievement.
