Blood-red hair flashed through the trees
The crackle of leaves
I saw him, running
toward the brook with the speed of the wind
He stopped, puzzled
at what was before him
The blue of the brook fighting
against the heat of his run
He could go no further
He followed the edge of the brook
fish shied away at his presence
Taking shelter in deeper, cooler water
His breath as hot as an oven
Halfway down the brook he ran out of fuel
Cut off by the brook
The dampness of the nearby ground
There he stayed
Everything in his path
gone
To this day his path remains
I follow it from time to time
Glancing at the scorched scars
Knowing It’s natural
Where he treads new life emerges
Each year he returns
Refueled by the come of summer
He covers the ground in black
He is Fire
By Ms. Sheets