The fire began
So long ago.
It was bitter cold,
As if the forest
Lit itself,
For warmth.
A fleeting spark,
A careless match,
A smoldering camp fire.
Such a small beginning
For a monster
That grew untamed,
Ferocious and ravaging,
Roaring and racing,
Consuming all.
And then
Just as fast
It wore itself out.
Smoldering,
For what seemed years.
Occasional sparks
Scattered smoke
Warm to the touch
Barren.
The fire will always live
In the forest:
Charred wood
Young trees,
Forever,
For such a short time.
James K. Richardson