Fire and Flood
This time of year
the lake is an island of cool
in a cauldron of heat.
A few months ago,
the surrounding grass
was fed by flood
and stood tall and green
in a bog.
Now it is bleached, bent over
and crackles underfoot.
By January, the landscape
shrivels up and tightens
into a parched,
knotted ball
tensing for the burn.
Baked and blackened,
its ancient soul readies
to resurrect again,
breaking out
of its charcoal sarcophagus
with a green shoot as if
it was giving a raised finger
to fire.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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