Fire

When the rain stopped, everything grew.

When the rain stayed away, everything dried out.

When the rain didn’t come back, the wildfires started.

 

I am blessed on my island in the middle of a lake in the middle of a rainforest, but I feel the heat in my bones.

The nearest fire colours my twilight in shades of orange and smoke.

 

No-one has died, tens of thousands have left their homes not knowing if they will have homes to return to.

This is my summer.

Ashcroft burning

Photo by Darryl Dyck The Canadian Press

Ashcroft BC

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