Now that the mornings are getting colder, I often think of Marysville, one of the towns obliterated by the Black Saturday bushfires over a year ago. We used to go to Marysville each September. The cold smell of the air, freshly dug soil, the sound of the currawongs and the waft of open fires always brings Marysville to my mind, and I still really can’t quite believe that Marylands is no longer there. I suppose that I should drive up there one day, but even now I feel uncomfortable about being a voyeur on other people’s pain.
But I’ve found a fantastic Flikr site for people to post copies of photographs of Marysville prior to the fires.