Eucalyptus, Smoke Haze

 

Just before Christmas we find ants rimming the sink. ‘I think they’re thirsty,’ Tom says.

 

Once on Richard Fidler’s Conversations I heard D’harawal elder Aunty Fran Bodkin say we can learn a lot about the weather from the way meat ants behave.

 

They swarm before it is going to rain. They rim their nests with tiny white stones. This warns of really hot weather, bushfires coming through.

 

I follow the trail of ants down the corridor, out over the deck and down the steps to their nest by the dehydrated maple tree. White stones, black ants, bone dry earth.

 

The talk on the radio has a hushed, doomed feeling to it. Bushfires are ravaging the country and the fire season has barely begun.

 

At our farm in the Snowy Monaro it is dry and windy. The trees usually submerged in the middle of the lake are growing out of the receding waterline. We clear the gutters and pack the most precious paintings and books into the car.

 

 

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