The Scorched Earth
This forest – Fourmile – was once my friend. Now it stands black and barren against the uncaring sky. A sky whose wind whipped embers to infernos stealing everything.
This forest was once my friend, concealing its wanderers under thick cover. Now the tortured black timber hides nothing. Nothing but the burnt skeletons of one hundred sixty nine lost homes.
I walk to the burn’s edge high above Boulder, an insuppressible cry in my throat. How can I mourn? What right have I to scream? By less than an hour, by less than a mile, a shift in the wind spared me … consuming others instead.
Scorched ground. Scarred skyline. I stand suspended. My mind’s eye mezmerized on a million pictures, floating down, as ashes into my lungs.
Maybe someday it will return. But for now it remains a harsh reminder that we keep no more than memories of the things we leave behind.
- David A. Perlick