Currowan

Smokey summer ash adorned

Christmas trees

Crunchy grass beneath thonged feet

No longer green

Furrowed brows over tired eyes

Check forecasts

Survey dirty skies, stained

Edging ever closer

Tranposing night on day

Catastrophic

No fireworks when fire works

Blazing its ferocious path

Relentless, unstoppable

In the aftermath

Stillness

A deserted landscape in shock

Stripped bare, down to the roots

Like us

With no choice than to

Rejuvenate