It is February

the rains have come

and with them

mosquitoes and the chorus of cicada.

By the side of the road

which winds down from

my mountain

to the valley below

November Lillies are blooming

Oddly out of order

as are the blackened trees

on Beechmountain,

that other range now lush again.

Out of kilter

is a rainforest

on fire

at the beginning of spring.

An Australian Spring,

not an Arab Spring

but none the less

transformative.

This Australian Spring

spreads across farmlands

down the coast

leaping dry rivers and creek beds

torching all in its wake.

Air filled with smoke.

Skies blood red

turning black

as towns flee to water

for safe haven.

This Australian Spring

is the beginning ,

an awakening,

a lifting of the blinkers

from eyes closed tight

ears blocked

and mouths covered.

This Australian Spring

stretching through

hot summer

the beginning of the end.