The persistent burning of the sun, creates an alien landscape, reminiscent of Armageddon. The blood tinged rays continue to burn through the haze, fighting to reach the scorched earth, as if it thinks it can help us heal. It makes sense, an entity made of fire, can’t comprehend the devastation it has wrought. 

It seems odd to be watching a mini-apocalypse on my television, but what else can we do? Hide and be thankful? Next time, it might be us.
The air is acrid, and my eyes burn from the toxic atmosphere. 
My lungs feel small, and tight, and my back hurts when I breathe.

It’s my soul, my heart, my emotions I’m fighting with logic, but we are in chaos. I begin crying, for no apparent reason; I can feel them; I can feel the destruction. The land is in silent mourning, and even the birds are abnormally quiet.
I must remind my heart; I’m safe, my animals are safe, my house is not in danger. Where I live is safe, but just an hour away, it’s a battlefield bombed beyond recognition. 

Fire is fast, and ravenous, and this one was fueled by an angry wind. It chased people I don’t know, and ruined homes I’ve never entered. 
As a collective, we are connected, and even the dullest of us can feel the silent alarm sirens as they bellow through the buried roots of a million trees. 
All the way to the ocean, I can feel the despair. 

Fire is a sociopathic narcissist, insisting on fresh supply to feed its insatiable need. It cares nothing for those it leaves behind, devastated in its wake. Eating and feeding, devouring nature and structures with an insatiable appetite.

Fire is an indiscriminate deity. It has no political leanings and declares itself a potentate over the masses. This is not a democracy, and we don’t get a vote. Fire cares nothing for fairness, or genders, or age, or wishes and dreams. It isn’t even benevolent enough to offer a warning or time for escape. 

Fire is a power few can vanquish, even the great mother, or us miniscule beings. It has a face, and once it carries a name, it becomes immortal, a story to be passed down. This new god, creates a self-sustaining atmosphere, and its own private world of controlled anarchy. It has a rhythm and a life and it refuses to be denied its due.

The loss is unimaginable. The hive is destroyed and the inhabitants are without shelter. They swarm to nowhere, still running as the beast with an infinite hunger, rages all around.

A million tears cannot extinguish the flames of anguish. 
A lifetime is lost in seconds, engulfed by a demon of destruction. 
It’s an unwelcome cleansing, and a visitor never thought to arrive on our doorsteps. 
The Earth makes its power known and the helpless can only weep. 

When this happens, we are reminded of our puniness, and our inadequacy. 
The ashen silver lining is the lesson of love, compassion, comradery, and the power of the, NOW. 

~Payne Hawthorne