Walked across the barren landscape
Traversing the charred hills
Through ash and dirt
Dodging burnt sticks still standing
Like long black ghosts
Grabbing at the sleeves of my shirt
Climbed down into a small canyon
Scattered with old rusted cans
Full of bullet holes
Pieces of white quartz here and there
I scout for anything out of the ordinary
To mark my journey
Smooth soles on my shoes cause me to slip
Sliding down inches at a time
On decomposed granite
The way gets difficult and steep
Full of those black ghost sticks
I cannot move forward
I stop and gaze at the ground to find a path
Turning my eyes and feet uphill
Step by step out of the gulch
Taking in the view to the east
Clouded sky, and more burnt trees
As far as the eye can see
An occasional wildflower now popping
A refreshing sight to see
Amongst the sparse bits of grasses
One different looking orange bloom
Wide petals, long stem
Several buds about to open
I wonder if I’ll be able to find it again
I take a mental picture of where I am
File it to memory
Many wild onions, nice tall purple spikes
And all the little yellows hugging close
To the black-brown earth
I gaze over the landscape, resting, pondering
Likening human existence to the overview
The aftermath
Just like the new growth from the base of the scrub oaks
We can grow new visions
Reaching towards the sunlight with fervor
Not giving in to being a burned dead stick
Petrified from the experience of catastrophic abuse
And elements
And although the ghost will remain standing
It will eventually be covered in fresh new growth
Shining and green
Hiding the blackened skeleton that once was life
But was subject to a wind and fire so fast and furious
Out of control
Similar to what happens to us in life
Something comes and burns
Leaving scars and ghosts
Ugly, stark landscapes of stunted souls
Blank and black for months until water, sun and soil
Give birth
But the manzanitas, the magnificent trees
Not an ounce of green on the blackened sticks
Total death
Like some who do not survive the fires that burn
Something takes them away from here
Wiping out their existence
Only memories remain of what they once were
How strong they stood
How deep their red color
Maybe a seed will sprout one day, but none do I see
Or does the spirit really die
I wonder
We are the lucky ones who continue to live
Surviving nature and all its fury
Each burning fire behind us
Unlike some who perish in the flames
We have a chance to survive
And grow
c.2004JoanBerry