Fire.

For days there have been bush fires to the east.

Thick brown haze plomps itself in the horizon.

Pink puff glow by night seen by BBQ stained faces.

Reports vary.

It's 12 kilometres away. 15. Nothing to worry about.

It's mainly grass around here.

(guess I bin imagining all them gum trees)

The wind's changing. Coming from the north-west.

Might be a storm tonight.

The fire's swinging around by Fish Hole, the Euro Dreaming.

Two kids arrested. 10 and 12. Bin doing 6 fires a day.

The sky is a quiet hepatic yellow, the shadows blue.

Birds are quiet, like before a storm.

I see a lizard in the rock where in the Dreamtime the women killed a man.

I email my lover in Rome.

It feels a bit like a final mobile message from the twin towers, ok, quite on the dramatic side.

I don't hear back from him.

Our usual crap short-circuiting communication.

Distance sucks big-time, and I have dreams of murderers.