Orange Sun, Orange Shadow

 I was walking down Wellington Street, St Kilda. The wind ran hot, even at the early hour. I stopped for a coffee, noting, as I waited for the barista to do their thing, the orange glow on the footpath, the sun a bright orange. A cloying smoke haze sat over the city. 

Then there were the 2009 fires. We were going back to Adelaide for my parent's big party. There were four of us. Parking the car at the long-term car park in the early morning, the wind was racing. 

"This is not good," I said to Blarney.

"Why not?" she asked. 

"This is a bushfire wind." Blarney grew up in Ireland. Bushfires aren't front of mind.

By the time we got back to our hotel later that night, after a day of driving around the Fleurieu Peninsula, half of Victoria was alight. 173 people died in those fires. They were brutal. 

And in 2019, when Scomo was on holiday in Hawaii, when the continent was on fire, and the smoke from the flames went around the world, we had an orange sun, and smoke in the air, and the feeling that Armageddon was approaching. 

Sitting at my desk this afternoon, I saw this. 

The sunbeams shone orange through the window. My stomach dropped. No, that isn’t orange highlighter on the notepad.

And later, as the thunder started to sound, looking out the window, there was this.

A scary sight. 

Animals were on edge. 

People were nervous, even from our places of relative comfort and safety in the city. 

Then the reports that Beaufort residents were told to leave the town immediately, with a fire front fast approaching. 

And we think, "Here we go again."

An orange sun will forever put me on edge. Nothing good will come from it. 

Today's song: