remembering summer

I remember heat,
day after day, relentless.
I remember the air,
thick with smoke and fear,
bags packed by the front door,
waking to check the fire maps,
startled from sleep by every new alert.
I remember this,
like I remember a dream,
as I wake to frost,
to grey winter skies
and wet earth.
What urgency can there be now
to go out into the cold,
wield the chainsaw,
clear the ground,
when the threat is so dreamlike,
so hazy and unreal?
I need to remember the heat.
I need to remember the smoke.
I need to remember the fear.

I read Ren’s poem about relentless heat recently, and it reminded me of the summer heat which is now half a year away here. And I thought, I should write a winter poem, to remind me of the cold when it is summer again – a poem like a ball of snow tucked away in the freezer for six months, to be dropped in gin&tonics on the hottest days, to remember that it wont be hot for ever. But then I thought, no, perhaps what I need to do is remember summer right now.