A few months ago we spent an afternoon in the beautiful Nightcap National Park. It was Father’s Day and after lunch at the incredible Doma Cafe in Federal and a drive through the gorgeous Byron hinterland we arrived at the park just in time for a play in the ethereal, golden glow that the slowly setting sun brings.

Being out in nature brings so much joy to humans. It promotes lightness of being, healing, reflection, a slowing down of breath and heart rate, a feeling of being part of something bigger, more wondrous and significant than ourselves. It is part of our world that is there for everyone. Which grounds us and connects us. This can be seen so vividly when we watch our children interact with these spaces. They play joyfully, fully and comfortably. Notice all the little wonders. Feeling the earth beneath their feet. Listening to the creatures in the trees and shrubs. Noticing the way a leaf floats gently down a stream of water between the well-worn rocks. Finding the magic light and dancing in it. Singing and running with wild abandon.

It is hard to believe now that nature can also be such a great source of fear for humans. Spreading fire with ferocity and putting all those in her way in danger. When I look at these photos now, after the recent bushfires (many of which are still burning as I type) with all the images I have seen of the blazes, the stories I have read of survival, retreat and heroics and warnings which have been heard I imagine what it must be like there now. Flickering flames, thick, choking smoke, threatening winds, frightened, or worse still, wounded animals, charred trees. Destruction of a place we hold so dear. It makes me feel melancholy just thinking about it.

And now with my little girl coming to an age where she has a greater understanding of the world around her and her place in it I face the confusion about how much I should tell her or let her hear about what is happening in our world. In our country. In our ‘backyard’. I know she is learning things at pre-school. They performed a dance for rain and she learnt that some of her fellow students had had to leave their houses because of the danger. I tell her about the animals and how they are suffering and she tells me that makes her feel sad. She asks me if we are in danger from the fires and I tell her I don’t think so. She quizzes more about the bushland surrounding us and why that doesn’t make her unsafe. I want her to grow to be a good global citizen and a friend to her planet but am mindful of telling her too much too soon. I don’t want her to suffer from unnecessary anxiety about things she shouldn’t need to worry about at just (nearly) five years of age.

In myself I feel a deep sadness, fear and confusion. About what is becoming of our world. Do we have any idea what is just around the corner?

As one who suffers from anxiety and panic disorder I have recently felt the need to shield myself from some of these big and scary contemplations. I am a deeply sensitive, caring and feeling person and since becoming a mother to two little beings who I am now responsible for those feelings have become even bigger. I have protected myself by intentionally cocooning myself against the harshness of the world. For this I feel a deep sense of guilt. That perhaps I haven’t been playing my part in the conversations. The lobbying, the signing petitions, the lending my voice to important debates. The allowing myself to feel anger that this is what is becoming of our planet and that we are letting it happen. Even though I try on a daily basis to do what I can to live an environmentally friendly life (except the cloth nappies, I did them with my first baby but just couldn’t face them with my second … the nappy rash, the washing!). I know there is more I could do. Perhaps more we could all do!

For now I send my thoughts and prayers to those in the firing line, the people, the animals, the trees, the shrubs, the air. I talk with my daughter about the things we can do to be of service, the things that will allow her to feel empowered and useful, not victimised and frightened. And I hope for better, safer, more joy-filled days ahead for the earth and her inhabitants.