From the Ashes

I drove through a wildfire once.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong wind.

Got caught between the path of twin smoke spirals,

A small town in the middle of nowhere,

Long since evacuated.

The firemen escorted us through,

Not sure how we landed in the middle of an inferno,

Unknowing.

The truth being that there aren’t enough people

To warn all the travelers,

Mark all the roads,

In those northern places.

It was like a moonscape,

Once we cleared the smoke.

Trees, land, sky,

Distilled down to whitened ash,

Nothing left to rise again.

Later, later, later

The moonscape remained

But at the edge

The fireweed rose up

A victory

And a warning.

IMG_9821A flag planted, A battlefield remembered

So much of the North rises and lives on tales of tragedy and destruction.


For slightly less tragedy and some destruction, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

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