walking amongst blackened bushes and trees
tawny hillsides, the crunch of gravel,
we hear silence between each footstep, our
voices rise and fall like our lives, the triumphs
and the depressions, the rainbows and hailstorms
that we watch pass by from the safety of our front
porches, reminded how quickly such storms pass
and how little faith we have in the midst of it.
patience, as the fire burns down slowly and the
trunks still stand, yes, blackened, but in time,
so much green comes forth, standing out from
the tawny hillsides that stretch into the distance.