One month ago, a fire raged in this place,
The trees died,
the life was extinguished,
I came the next day, And the ground was bare,
Bare of all green and covered by ashen black,
No sound fell upon my ears,
No green smell greeted me,
Only the stench of death.
Today I come to my glade again,
And I find the bareness softened by tender green,
The grass has come back to this black barrenness,
Small blades yet,
small and fragile as moonlight,
Yet, they are green and they cover the black ground.
I shall come in days to be,
Come to my glade again,
And I shall sit here Remembering those trees that have gone before,
Remembering those creatures that dwelt here,
Yet sseeing the trees that will grow here,
Hearing the sound of the birds and insects at play,
And smelling the new greenness,
knowing and loving those creatures,
that will inhabit my glade again.
For that is the way of the forest,
To cover the scars of burning with new life,
To renew and restore,
After blinding lightning strike has destroyed,
It is in balance. **"> © Copyright Ann K. Parsons, October 1988