the ground was burnt. ashen remains of various lives lay scattered, blowing in the acrid wind. the very air smelt of fire, of death. there was no color, only the dull trickles of grey and the mounds of black.

but oddly, the fire ravaged earth was not hot. it was cold. the sun was hidden by the deep rolling clouds overhead, its rays unable to penetrate the mass. sinister grumbles of thunder bubbled far off in the distance, natures tragedy was not over quite yet. the wind whipped the charred landscape with an unkind hand, cold fingers scrabbling at the earth’s edges. some may say an event as such had happened here, a bush fire raging throughout a land, was not at all good fortune. they may even say nothing good could come of it. i beg to differ. those that see the fires aftermath as a bad omen are scared of change. you can not escape change, although many try desperately to do so.

what had happened here, what had turned a once thriving place to resemble a desert, was the first signs of change. already nature was starting the journey. the rains would come soon to wet the parched ground. to start things over, rejuvenate the old. it was a cycle that happened all over the world, year after year. these rituals were a celebration for me. you see, i am the type which welcomes change, which finds joy in the differences in every small matter in life. this reason is why i was standing in the middle of the paralyzed landscape. in fact i had never left, that’s not to say I had been there long. i come and go with the seasons, with the changes. i had been around this area long enough to witness the fire, and i will be around long enough to see it grow again, to watch its rebirth.