Fires

Fires

January 3, 2020
Mr Morrison, sir

This dishevelled little owl flew to New South Wales (under her own wing-power), to see the Australian fires. What she saw (among all the awful fire sights) was people sheltering on a beach under an orange sky. Over the water, a lone helicopter hovered with a scoop-of-a-thing on a rope. The helicopter dipped it, filled it, then flew away towards the fires. And you know, Mr Morrison, the helicopter with its bucket was like a FLEA against the MOUNTAINS of smoke it disappeared into. Just one little helicopter. With its one little bucket. And Mr Morrison, the sight of that one, brave little helicopter and all those people you have let down (on so many fronts) in this country we are so blessed to call home, well, it makes this little owl sick to her stomach. And it makes her very, very angry. (Angrier than this little owl has ever been in her entire owl-lifetime.)
Shame on you, Prime Minister,
Shame.
The Dishevelled Little Owl.