Once a model of peace. I would braid daisies into her hair while she hummed sweet melodies with the birds in a meadow clearing deep in the forest. Forgotten by most protected by us. We would light candles under the midnight sky with fire in her eyes burning bright as the stars so very far above us.
But the still burning embers caught the trees on fire in the late of summer. Leaves raging ablaze with colors. Yellow, red, and orange until all the green was gone and her chorus of birds flew south. The fire trailed behind her as she left the clearing in search of her birds.
Onwards she marched never to look back to the days of daisies and humming with the birds.
Now the clearing is silent covered with a sheet of snow and ice. Step one, Step two to the beat of Uncle Sam’s drum.