three days later
you can still smell
the acrid smoke
on the wind
see the blackened
leaves a twiglets on
the green summer lawn

three days later
and  the town still
murmurs about
how close the
fire front came

close enough for
the northshore houses
to see the voracious  flame
to hear the crackle of it's burn

luck would have it,
that it turned,
luck and firefifighters
tested and tired, turned
the flame by art of backburn
back in on itself and then down to
the sea, down past the dunes
and then to die, to end in ash

five days of bushfire, haze and smoke
now just ash and grey black sculptures
on black ground canvas...

awaiting renewal......awaiting, awaiting