Post on Fire

The air is quiet.

The flow of water and the crackle of sparks break the emptiness. The river glows red from embers and the forest has changed overnight. The hillside weakens while the large trees expand their chests to breathe in the new air. 

The river flows on.

Searing the hillside, the black char gives new beginnings to what lay below. Tall trees stand unfazed by the shallow depth of it's terror. They have seen it before and been there long enough to shrug at such novelty. The flames week attempt at domination. Though some have lived too long and wait for their chance to fall. Chunks of bark explode as sparks leap off of the shoulders of taken trees.

The smoke rides the breath of the land. The hands of the fire grasp a tree and a plume of smoke is pushed up. It is frustrating. You can't get away. Your skull tightens and your lungs burn deep and weak. It is just enough to be aware of as the substance wears at your insides. It stops us. We yield to it's magic, it's mystical nature and incorrigible shrewdness. The fire continues, pushing us back.