It happened three weeks earlier than expected.

I woke suddenly to the smell of smoke filling the room, and everything from there is a blur.

I remember pulling my son from his bed and stumbling down the stairs with him in my arms, my partner right behind me.

The hot summer air was refreshing, and I checked my family over before turning to see the disaster.

If you haven’t guessed already, the house is on fire.

It’s more of a sudden inferno, quickly encasing the house in seconds.

My partner squeezes my hand before running to fetch help.

My son is crying now, and I’m shivering despite the blaze.

Neighbours soon rally around, throwing pails of water uselessly against the house, coming to comfort us, offer water for our burning throats.

Then I realise what exactly is going on and I’m beaming. My partner looks at me like I’ve got two heads, so I tell him and watch his grin match my own.

Word spreads around the helpers and they laugh and smile as if there is nothing wrong.

People still come and watch the burning of our house, offering help to rebuild once the fire dies down.

It does soon enough, revealing blackened rubble and smouldering patches of embers that shine in the night.

Once it’s cool enough, people start looking. Melted ornaments, scorched blankets, and even the grimy shell of the bathtub make an appearance.

Then comes a delighted shout, and we stumble over the wreck of crumbing concrete to see.

In the ash, illuminated by torchlight, are two tiny birds.

Someone offers a towel and my partner scoops them up and cleans them free from the dirt. The crowd of neighbours coo at them and offer help to rebuild the house.

Because in the towel are two Phoenixes that blink sleepily at the world. They are three weeks early, born in the blaze they created.

My great- grandfather found the eggs when he was a kid, and it’s been tradition to look after them in the Phoenix house. Some families in this town have multiple hatches a year, all born in a great bonfire and celebration of life and rebirth.

We may have lost our home, but from the ashes came two cheeping bundles of hope.