The Smoky Horizon

The slight zephyr ruffles the leaves on my short tree, dust swirling in small tornados, wafting the aroma of eucalyptus toward me.

When I slept yesterday, millions of trees filled my forest. The glorious trees were now replaced by jagged, misshapen stumps.

Who is the culprit?

The rancid smell of fumes hits me a second before I see the monstrous vehicles cutting an imposing silhouette across the smoky horizon.

The red dust trailed in the wake of the machine, choking my lungs. Panicked birds fought for purchase in the few trees left, a frenzy of feathers and squawks.

I gaped at the spectacle heat penetrating my grey fluffy body, longing for the comfort of my now bare tree.

I felt weak and limp, dizzy from the hunger and the heart-breaking scene in front of me.

My childhood, my comfort, my world. Destroyed. My home was destroyed.

Overcoming my grief, I sat up slowly, the excruciating pain in my paw only just setting in.

Bearing the torment, I limped to the surrounding trees, trying to warn the oblivious koalas.

No one would listen and I had no choice but to run, the terrifying machinery clambering my way.

Exhaustion overtook me, I could no longer fight.

I woke up, hours, maybe days later, nestled in a blanket and being fed a bottle of milk.

As I grasped my bearings, I realised I was in an enclosure, other injured animals lay around me.

Like a bonfire, we shared our stories, and each followed (traced, flew) a familiar path. Human destruction.

And yet, look at the irony, us animals cannot stop this, only humans can.

Humans must undo all they have done.