Black gum-leaves fell from the sky yesterday. They were whole, still veined and intact with those characteristic galls on the surface, but entirely scorched. They must have been subject to an incinerating heat momentarily before being rapidly ejected by an huge updraft high above the fire-ground, than carried by the prevailing westerlies into towns dozens of kilometres away. I haven't seen the likes of them before - ashes, embers and dust, sure - but never whole leaves. It speaks to the intensity of the fires and the weather that we have such a dismal rain, so wholly unwelcome.

They are spooky too, coming unbidden, as they do, from scenes of chaos and destruction. They drop like omens of the calamity we are bringing on ourselves. Of all the threats that might bring homo sapiens undone, and these vary from war to famine to disease, or cosmic interventions like asteroids and gamma ray bursts, it is human rapacity and short-sightedness that may ultimately do us in. I hope not, but how much hoping can a man have? That well is almost dry.