My husband is joining us today to share a few words.
When disaster comes, it can be difficult to identify with the people directly affected unless perhaps one has been through similar events.
The recent fires in Australia have brought out the best of humanity as Aussies rally around to try to help, in any way they can’ those fellow countrymen who have suffered so grievously.
It can bring tears welling as one listens to news of how, within two days the charities had to ask for people to stop donating clothes, blankets and other household goods because they simply didn’t have enough people to sort and process the mountains that had come through their doors.
Listening to the appeals as they soar into the millions of dollars faster than ever before brings a lump in the throat at the generosity of the everyday people of Australia, while hearing about the thousands of people lining up to give blood is heartwarming.
But how do you write about all this? Do you have to have experienced the pain, the trauma and loss in order to reach into those feelings to be able to express them vividly enough to cause those same emotions to rise in your reader?
Is it possible to sit outside the feelings but still describe them so well they resonate with similar moments in the lives of your readers?
I have been on fire lines, and worked in the camps set up in the bush where men and machines gather to do battle with the most ferocious servant man has had. Emergency situations change people; we see the best of them as they stand together to face impossible odds, to trust each other with their lives and to take on the impossible task of turning fifty foot flames from their path, of stopping inferno from devastating their community.
Can we write about heroism from outside? Is it possible to tap into an entirely new way of thinking and acting if we haven’t been there?
High Fire Danger
The smoke-smell was quite strong that day, inhaled deep into breast
The sun was high, the wind was mild, coming from the west.
Crackles came as fire bit in, the next ridge burning bright
It seared the slope across the gulch, all since morning light
Red tongue of flame had reached this side, of gully-bottom’s creek
We’d stop it here or run like hell, as safety we would seek
Heat haze above and viscous smoke, made it hard to see
Wet sacking, shovel, pack on back, fire heroes we would be
It started in the neighbour state, we tried to raise alarm
But National Park authorities, couldn’t see the harm
From 50 hectares at that time, its’ size so quickly grew
It crossed the border 5 miles wide; we’d need a bigger crew
Land round Bendoc’s high and steep, more vertical than flat
Our huge and heavy dozers, couldn’t cope with that
The call went out, resources flowed, firefighters came apace
We set up two more base camps, we really needed space
There’s choppers four, six fixed wings too, nine dozers had come in
When trying to pass the jobs around, we all raised quite a din
And now we stood, the thinnest line, a frail and human wall
We’d stem the tide and save our towns, just fire could make us fall
We knew that when the flames did leap, across the tiny stream
They’d race upslope, our flesh to burn, our tears to turn to steam
We had no choice of where we stood, conflagration chose
Smoked tears we wept, coughing loud, and dribbled from the nose
When first we met our fiery foe, the tiny little burn
Had grown in size a thousand times, and then began to turn
Out of place and miles away, we’d had to rush right in
No choice of where to fight the beast, we took it on the chin
For days we sweat against the roar, the showers of sparks so bright
It stayed so dark from smoke and ash, we knew not day or night
When flame rose high and threatened all, there was no time for fear
Just wet that sack and swing it round, Death is truly near
The flames went by, we ran for life, and got back to the front
Old George was just magnificent; his team now took the brunt
And slowly as reports came in, we saw the tide had turned
We started getting rest breaks then, but not what we had earned
For two long weeks the fire had raged, had torn our lives apart
But folks were safe, though we were spent, from that we all took heart
A mighty celebration raged, pissed workers all around
Then hungover and bleary-eyed, we made our way to town.
Back closer to when we first met, my husband told me about his childhood hero - Victor Borge. The way he spoke about the man changed his voice and brought a smile to his face. I couldn’t help but smile as well, given his reaction; it was wonderful to see.
My husband and I were recently talking to the man who married us, and the topic came on to how we were ready to move - anywhere in Australia. I think our friend was a bit concerned, as most of my husband’s and my social ties are to people in our current location and people Mr. JM works with.
Compassion is defined as:
When you think of art, many things could come to mind: a painting, a museum, maybe even an art gallery. 
Things are going up a bit later than I planned, given 
What is beauty?
Daughters.
Do You Only Wanna Dance?
