People fall in love with Mallacoota. Families come for a summer holiday, and a second one, and then keep returning for fifty years or more. People drop in to look at the view, buy a house on a whim, and stay for good. It’s that sort of place.

Mallacoota is my lifelong love affair. I’ve holidayed here forever, and now it’s my home. I’ll be here for good, because this is where I feel truly alive.

Watching Mallacoota burn was an experience I can’t quite believe ever happened, even though the brutal evidence is everywhere. It’s as though I’d been plucked out of normal life that day and dropped into another place; a strange and threatening landscape. It was how I imagined the end of a dying world might look – pitch black except for a vivid orange glow.

I’d left my house and taken shelter on the foreshore, with thousands of others, and the thing that struck me most was how calm everyone was. We’d all clicked into survival mode, I think. I sat in the car  going over and over what I would do if the worst happened. It didn’t happen – despite the devastation, we were lucky that day.

A few weeks on, the atmosphere is unnaturally quiet. Normally, the big campground would be full of people having fun with their families and friends. But now, it’s like a ghost town; almost empty. It’s eerie – an unsettling reminder of that other strange reality.

Everything seems subdued. When I walk around in the bush, my footsteps make barely a sound, muffled by the fine, grey ash. I keep being surprised at how far I can see through areas that used to be thick with plant life. I miss the ‘busy-ness’ of the insects, birds and animals that I would normally see going about their lives. Most of them are gone, and the bush is stripped back to its bones, a charred and silent landscape.

The beaches are strangely quiet too. The sand is still fringed with ash, like delicate black lace, and piles of charred leaves half-bury the remains of birds and other wildlife. I don’t let myself think of their fate. I can’t deal with those thoughts right now.

Life seems on hold at the moment. It’s as though the world is catching its breath – still stunned by the ferocity of the fires. The twisted ruins of the burnt houses seem almost surreal. They are too sad for me to really comprehend.

But, already, in the quiet stillness of the bush, there are signs of hope. Native plants are starting to regrow. Spiky green shoots are reaching up from the charred earth – glorious acts of defiance in those black landscapes. Tiny red and green shoots – astonishing in their delicate beauty – are forcing  their way through the thick, burnt bark of  trees. They are pushing towards the light, insisting on life, even when it seems impossible.

Mallacoota is still beautiful. This ancient place has been weathered and shaped by the elements, and it has seen many things. It will get through this – and those of us who love Mallacoota will get through it too.

But it’s going to take a while.