Black sand

I am leaning over the sink washing up when I hear it again over the late news:

"...oil spill..."
"...Moreton Island..."
"...wost environmental disaster in Queensland's history..."

I pause and dry my hands and watch as scenes so familiar to me drift across the screen. Tears prick my eyes again and I dare them to spill over.
They don't, this time.

Of course I am angry about the spill. Why my island? Why? It's a rare occasion I don't listen to the rational, marine biologist in me, who would play it down, and explain it was only accident. They didn't mean to ...did they?

I have a vague recollection of hearing about an oil spill when I was child, still living on Moreton Island. (It was probably the Exxon Valdez.) I remember thinking, that I hoped it never happened on my island. And now it has.

I remember seeing for the first time the fine black mineral sand in the Philippines, and thinking how much I preferred the bright white sand back at home. Now the sand is black there too. They say the oil is being covered up by sand drift already, but it still lurks below the surface.

I'm not sure now what upsets me about it exactly. I feel guilty, like one might when you find out your grandmother is gravely ill, and you haven't seen them in a long time. Why didn't I visit more?

I feel like a traitor as well. Here I am, working as a marine biologist, using my training to protect another country's environment.

I feel a bit helpless too. What could I do anyway? Fill plastic bags - oddly a petroleum product - with oily sand? Help rescue sea birds that will probably die anyway?

I think I need to go back there again sometime, touch the sand, climb the trees and feel the water again, and make peace with it.