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