Consummation
Nightfall in the wake of the wild fire.
Up from the ashes, a shoot, a bud.
Like the phoenix it rises swiftly, erupting.
Tender and young, green, full, crisp with life.
The gentle mist falling, bathing the rising shoots.
Twisting and pushing, visibly growing, reaching for the stars.
The first leaves fold out, pale and soft, to greet the rising sun.
The light intensifies, warming the air, caressing the delicate tip of the bud.
Feeling that gentle touch, the bud blooms lightly, brightly.
Now fully grown, what was just a shoot stands tall and proud.
The sun bears down, drying the air, and then a spark.
Springing from the hay nearby, the flames spread from plant to plant.
The fiery touch of a neighbor lights the flower ablaze.
The entire meadow becomes lit, raging and roaring.
The bloom and leaves of the flower’s youth are consumed first, leaving a blackened but
still blazing stalk, straight like a candle, crackling fiercely.
Finally, the fire burns out, and the bent and blackened stalk lies on the ground.
The sun sets quickly, an night comes softly, bearing her beaded dew.
But, Up from the ashes.
