Woods on Fire

The dead wood, blackened, charred to beyond well done two months past. The odor lingers. Hangs even, in the air. A campfire burned too long, a house fire destroying too much. It's dead here, the smoke taking with it all, each leaf, each limb.

A graveyard lay in its place, fell logs, sad stumps, janitor trees; reaching out, extending a broken branch to save what is no longer below.

Green is beginning to take shape in the road, replacing what once was; lush, green, life. The hue is only replicated at the tips of the tallest oxygen producers. These are the show-offs. They stretch their branches, the barren and fruitful, towards the open, inviting blue. Swaying this way, then that. They collide at intervals, like two hands clapping for an encore.

Amidst the blackened fibers, I sit.  I am masked but my hands remain natural, naked. I feel a fleeting notion to cover them but they feel comfortable here. As if they too are blanched limbs, sticking out against the black ground. The woods are angry, yet scared. Their scarred remains seem to lie in wait, waiting, possibly for the flames to return.

We wait too.

A new location is required, as these woods yield more inspiration than dinner worthy fare. As we depart, the woods sigh like an aging man whose potbelly is finally allowed relaxation after a blind date.

We begin to enter less scarred territory.


Before I am transfixed by the lush, rich foliage and led to believe true beauty lives elsewhere, I greedily snatch an opaque remnant.

*Please Note: I generally don't post things that are: a) this short b) this strange c) this vague.  However, I was extremely struck by this place more than I was the hunt.  I mapped this into being on my smartphone, another reason I felt the need to post it as it is my first ever post written entirely (for the most part, anyway) on my phone (three cheers for technology! You hearing this, Rudy?)

It is not always the hunt that proves to be the most exciting part of one's experience in the woods.  As this piece illustrates, it may be the colors, the sounds, or even the smells that make a lasting impression. This is more of a "scene description" than anything else, an exercise I perfected during creative non-fiction in college.  You may see more of these as my creative mind begins to blossom again, welcoming a new hunting season.

The title of this piece, in addition to its content, is a reflection of a song by Blue Foundation entitled "Eyes On Fire".  It's a hauntingly beautiful song that sings of terrible, scarred and angry things; hence, this post.


Please also note: DU believed me crazy when I recited this piece last night.  He simply told me that this post is "interesting".  He, obviously, did not see the woods as I had so this may be all in my head, or not.  It is up to you, dearest reader, to choose.