There was still a slight smoky tinge to the mist this morning. No fire but just the lingering breath of burnt grass now dampened and wreathed by fog. All was quiet except the birds who were singing at full pitch. They apparently appreciated the storm last night much more than my children. It was a biggish storm with lots of wind and rain and lightening bolts of the kind that temporarily bridge the divide between heaven and earth. One of those strikes must have lit the grass higher up the hill. There was a flash, then a huge bang then the smell of smoke. From our new vantage point in the living room we watched smoke creeping down the gully and across the fields. It was more something to keep an eye on than to worry about. There’s a newly ploughed field between us and where the smoke was eddying and shortly afterwards there was enough water lashing down from the sky to deal with most fires. I became busy mopping up the water that was inserting itself horizontally through all the southern windows. There’s a price to be paid for scenic views.
This morning Marburg basked in bright sunshine and a brisk breeze. Driving south, the Tallegalla hills were mist-bound. I motored gently around the curves softened by cloud behind an elderly gentleman in one of the earliest model Subarus. The car was working hard to maintain 60kph and I was coasting along in third gear. I think he would have preferred to be overtaken and left in peace, but I was enjoying the quietness. The forest and cemetery were caricatures of Hollywood sets waiting for actors.
Usually when the crest of the hills is reached the entire Bremer valley spreads out in front of you, displaying its wares right to the Dividing Ranges. Today, even the blotch of the local rubbish dump was discretely veiled. Rosewood was cool and grey, on a different planet from the village on the other side of the hills. The only connection was that thread of burnt scent in the air.