smoke haze

the chainsaw roars,
drowning out the cicadas

first a wedge to direct the fall,
then slowly, a long slice, until
CRACK
and the tree tilts, then tumbles

blue sky opens above
where there were grey leaves –
but the gap is still too small

the trunk is cut to foot-longs,
and everyone carries what they can,
stacking it for a future winter,
unimaginable in this heat

until just the canopy remains,
to be dragged
and tossed into the trailer
to be taken far from the house

the children climb on top
burrowing amongst the leaves
laughing and shoving
as they jolt along the track

we smile,
but the smoke haze hangs
like fear in the air

This was written last summer, when we had months of heat and smoke haze, and were extending our firebreak while listening to bushfire updates on ABC radio. We took down a few more trees today, reducing canopy connection close to the house, which reminded me of last season and this poem.