It’s almost two years since the first fires came through.
The ground is still black in places.
Scarred, charred, charcoal.
I know we feel fear as the harsh fronts approach.
Animals fret and flee.
But I wonder about the plants.
Unable to move or leave they bear the full brunt and burn.
When the months of smoke had cleared and the threat passed, I walked through the empty forests and felt bereft.
The blackness and barren scape seemed beyond life.
But it is still living.
The seasons don’t surrender.
Gently, slowly, courageously, life goes on.
Inspired by its beauty and resilience,
how can I not?
To birth and grow, to burn and crumble
to come back changed
this is possible.