Out to the Trig station and back
the coddled clouds
were part of a gentle day
their feather touch
calming
even the horizon misty
a moist lightness on the sea air
the path soft and established
with sandstone built sides
the only reason we have hesitated
before
is the steep gradients of ups and downs
today it seemed right to tackle
I expected wildflowers at their best
a past memory was a gathering
of flannel flowers
we met a back-burn
dry acrid smell
black ashen ground
the air tasted acerbic
it harshened my breath
agony of past summer fires
miniture here
reminded me of loss
of absence
yes nature survives fire
yes banksia uses heat to propagate
yes it can prevent wild-fire destruction
but here I stood before empiness
my mind spinning
will the flannel flowers return?
will the flying duck orchids
break this hard dry barren place?
all I can say
I grasped for answers
only when I got past this area
did they come
in colours and patterns
resilience and belief in renewal
