WOOSH! Flames burst up around me with other Elders lighting fires around the younger ones of the mob, telling stories under the star-light sky. I walked through the parched grass which tickled my feet with every step I took. I stood next to Uncle and watched as his shriveled but warm hands started to light the fire on the barren land. The heat slapped me in the face and I immediately stood back and hid behind a cabbage tree palm with fear spreading through my body as the fire roared. Chaos reigned in my body. My heartbeat pulsated rapidly, like it was a machine and someone had taken out a clog from it. My mind was telling me not to go any further and I started

to sweat a waterfall. Uncle, however, gazed at the fire with comfort, like an old friend. I was in a state of calamity, until the fire invited me forward with open arms, like a loving grandmother inviting me forward and my mind gave in to its mesmerising feel. I slowly shuffled forward from my secluded, lonely, cabbage tree palm and sat cross-legged next to my Uncle, who was still observing every flicker of the spreading fire.

Every flicker and flame told the ancient stories of my ancestors. How they hunted, how they gathered berries, how they connected using Dreaming Stories… Every segment of every story was more precious than diamonds worth millions of dollars. I closed my eyes and listened. The crackle of the fire, bygone leaves slowly burning, the slow breathing of Mother Earth echoed through my ears like a soft melody. It called my name like a mother caressing her baby in her arms. “Kalina…Kalina…” the voice whispered with a melodious tune. Each orange and yellow hue and tone held the important power of rehabilitation and reproduction. Destructive yet kind, powerful yet gentle. I was immersed with this blessing and realised the fire was not just healing the land, but also healing me from the shards of glass piercing my heart. It slowly melted the shards and made it into a beautiful artwork of kindness and love. Like an angel in disguise. The land seemed to respond by murmuring a little “Thank you,” with its endless winds and branches swaying softly and soundly in peace.

Uncle slowly got up and I realised he must’ve been thinking about the same things as me. His nostalgic memories of his childhood of playing in the bush with his friends and being cradled in his mother’s arms whispering about the old Dreaming Stories of his ancestors and family. “Kalina, time to head back,” he whispered softly. I got up reluctantly, not wanting to leave the warm grasp of the flames. As I walked back on the freshly burnt land, that was already replenishing, I thought about what I learned about my ancestors. Their voices echoed in my head, telling ancient tales about Dreaming, how important and deep the connection is to the land. I soon then remembered this was also going to be a tale to tell to the future generations. Then to the next… and the next…