the fire is flic- ker- ring i wonder how it will be to breathe smokeless air and hate myself for doing so
where will this rain go? it has ruined my dry-timber bones i am smoldering embers shivering.
then- clouds clear & clear laughter. how blind was i not to see the magic is not in the flower who shines the brightest because she loved the sun it is in the flower who blooms because she believed in the moon