Last night I dreamt there was an immense army to the south-east, awaiting a wind change before launching an attack. I panicked, awaking to the smell of smoke from distant fires. I thought of those still waiting for the onslaught and those for whom all waiting had passed.  

For days the media has been filled with stories about the bushfires and their aftermath. And that’s as it should be. A catastrophic event, such as we’ve never known, deserves a great deal of attention. 

Some of that media coverage, though, has been intrusive, highly insensitive and downright exploitative. I don’t need to see people experiencing private moments of grief, nor do I want to see images of burns victims in intensive care. To those who broadcast and publish such images: how would you feel if it were you, or one of your family, in those pictures? 

For those of us who live outside the bushfire zone, carrying on as if nothing’s happened is one way of dealing with events of the past 10 days. Given the bombardment of sad news, though, feelings of helplessness, deep sorrow, anger and other, less easily-defined, emotions are bound to emerge sooner or later. If we find ourselves weeping in public places, we can be assured that many others are doing likewise. 

And while we need to express our grief, it’s important to treasure moments of happiness wherever we can.     

Two CFA members from our neighbourhood travelled to the bushfires in Kinglake. They were there on Black Saturday, at the height of the fire. We saw one of them at a friend’s birthday party, on the evening of St Valentines Day. 

He’s a calm, cheerful, philosophical sort of person; the type of bloke you’d want to have around in a crisis… or at any time, come to that. He didn’t say much about his experience, other than it was pretty terrible. 

I was tempted to ask him more about his time in Kinglake but thought better of it. He planned to return there early the next day, but for that evening, at least, he could relax and enjoy himself, surrounded by friends. He didn’t need reminding about what he’d been through, what he’d seen and what he was to encounter yet again.

Over the last couple of days, while writing posts not related to the fires – away from the smell and sight of smoke – for a short time I’ve been able to switch off from the gut-wrenching reality of the fires. But I know that’s not the case for those who’ve lost so much. 

While I’m tempted to drive down there to help, I’ve heard that there are dozens of locals in fire-affected areas who need to work, who want to help themselves and their communities recover. 

While public speculation about the causes of the fires and their effects is rife – and I’m as guilty of that as anyone – perhaps it’s time for a moratorium from such commentary. Perhaps we need to give the survivors time to grieve and to evaluate what they need to do to re-build their lives. 

Again, last night, I awoke to the smell of smoke and thought of getting up to investigate. But the wind hadn’t altered its direction and, yet again, I escaped into sleep.