Through a Glass Darkly
Late last year in Queensland we had serious bush fires, mainly north of where we live. “You can hardly see the town from the road,” my sister greets me. “The haze from the smoke is just awful.” “It must be unbearable up north where the fires are. Straddie too, I heard. And the smoke’s in the air a lot here too,” I reply. I look out at a blurred landscape. The once bright green trees are dim. Hazy. For the past few days South-East Queensland has been shrouded in dust and smoke. We look sadly at the haze; it is the result of many bushfires burning ferociously, north-west of here. Fires rage day and night while firemen and others, even teams from interstate, fight the blazes. Aircraft drop water on the fires. But still they rage. The mass of smoke and dust from our parched, drought-stricken land stings our lungs with acrid fumes. It heavies our spirits with the pain of human suffering. Television shows us sad families standing beside the ruins of houses a