Ash Wednesday The Otways resonated with high winds and the sun baked the bracken crisp, anticipating the legacy of a flicked cigarette, or redhead struck with the flare of an arsonist’s intent. On the road to Birregurra, up at the old mill in the Marsh, from a spark and a whiff in the grass, sown into the sweep of an infernal wall, that with such speed and temper moved towards the conflagration of the hills … Where somewhere on a road a family flees with all it can shove in a boot, as on both sides glass insulators melted down…