LIE OF THE LAND

WHAT REMAINS

On that morning, my sister took her children out for the day, just in case. They would return for bedtime. The littlest hopped into the car, wearing her favourite pink thongs. A day later, they were the only shoes she owned.

12 November, 2019. A date our family will never forget. In the preceding days the Gosper’s Mountain bushfire had swept through nearby national park land. It was a threat, but the experienced firefighter and his little family were prepared. Gutters were cleared, socks filled with sand to plug up roof pipes, wallaby dung raked up and there was water nearby. Then it came. Like a wild beast, with relentless fury. Unstoppable in its course, unbelievable in its result.

On what scale do we measure the loss of all earthly possessions? When weeping becomes part of the everyday, when there is nowhere to call home. There’s that reflex to reach for a needed thing, knowing exactly where it hangs or in which drawer it lies and then remembering that the ‘where’ and the ‘thing’ are no more. n

Words and photographs Christella Zujic

lie of the land