The fire was mostly extinguished by then

From the little shack up there on the ridge
she could see trees weeping ash

tiny deer gathered by the salt lick
seeming almost drunk in their confusion

eagles with singed wings still soared above
it was a magnificent sight

at least from the limited view she had

returning to the old cabin that was anything but spacious
she pushed aside the dried logs by the hearth

and replaced them with a spray of forsythia
in a cracked blue glass

She pulled out her favorite chair
the one with the wobbly leg

Her pencil scratched the silence
as she wrote in the red journal

Her words inside the yellowed pages
could have come from anywhere

At least that’s what she told herself
sometimes

She wrote until her fingers cramped
and her wounds healed

the fire was mostly extinguished by then








 

photo: Pixabay
prompts: #aprpad – day 21, Sunday’s Whirlgig, The Sunday Whirl