by Myra Ting

Created on: February 12, 2009   Last Updated: February 17, 2009

DATE: FEBRUARY, Saturday 11 am in Victoria, Australia

Scarlet skies flicker crimson flashes into the Memorial Hall of the small country town.

The smoke waffles passed reflecting the colours making the glass appear to wobble in the frames.

The mourners paying their respects to a young father, husband, brother, friend and neighbor cast furtive glances away from the speaker. Uncertainty adds to the deep sadness felt throughout the last few days.

The smoky tinge to the air over the town cemetery at the burial this morning seemed to add to the mournful feelings of those present. Only the older members of the town were distracted and whispered to one another as they walked back to the road. There were knowing nods as each car passed the other on the way back to town. Dust from the road joined the orange smoke sweeping the atmosphere.

The sky is gone!

Outside the hall, the community is actively tense and the vehicles vacate the car park.

Sirens wail over the district.

To the north, the red eyes spy on the town through distant dark trees.

Bunyip Ridge is burning!

One after another, cars pull into driveways close to the main door of their home. Children run into the houses to close all doors and windows to the horror growing out side.

Radios are now the main sound among the hurry and scurry of feet.

Towels are soaked and pushed into place at the bottom of doors and windows denying entrance to the smoke.

Outside, Mums attach hoses, Dads climb ladders to block down pipes and fill roof gutters.

Inside one member of the family, speedily fill a case with Photo albums, legal papers, and schoolbooks, and plonks it down near the main door.

Another empties a laundry shelf of blankets into a box and put that by the case.

In the kitchen Mum, a steely look in her eyes, is packing a hamper with packets of foods. Next to her is a large first- aid case, open as her eldest checks the contents before adding the gel packs from the freezer.

Thick winter coats lie on the couch ready to protect against the opposite reason of their design.

The main door opens, fire smells burst into the home.

Close the door!' The first sound heard, but for the radio's warnings of fire threats and advice.

The youngest wheels a crate from room to room gathering clothes from the bedrooms. The silence brings routines unbidden from the memory; what to take and what to leave for later when it is safe again. Routines practiced during the cooler, early days of summer, for the fire season between January and April.

Silence hovers again.

Hand

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