It doesn’t surprise me there will be more fire, no fancy expensive reports necessary. It is as sure moths to the flame. There are more more moths now; carpets of them eat entire forests. Grey leaves.
Some people meet fire with fire: power, sales, foxes, storms, and boxes. I saw a teacher pick up a gun today.
I want to be a ponderosa. I smell like sweetness. When the fire meets my bark, I flake, impervious. Only I remain. In a previous life, maybe I walked off a cliff to give my body to a starving lioness and her cubs.