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Cruel, is Mother Nature
in Her healing.

Rains a week too late
To quell the fires
That burnt the foundations of home and life.
My breath disturbs the ash in the rubble,
Sends it to dance in the heavy air,
Like the fragile seeds of a dandelion
Released from its head.

Gray ash, wafting
In a single shaft of sunlight.
I pause, mesmerized.
Stricken at how the softest breath
Will change its journey.
Specks, so tiny and slight,
Drifting in the ray's light
This is all that is left
Of the past
Of my Life

Grief so deep it cloaks comprehension
Of the enormity of the loss
I sit amidst the ruins-so little, so lost
A dandelion fluff
Aimless and numb.

Mother Nature mocks my pain.
Sending rains, a week too late
To tame the flames.
Yet, soon enough to quench the dormant seeds,
That burst into apology
Of Super Blooms
That blanket hillsides with green carpets
And brilliant color and buzzing life.
A salve on the raw, scorched,
Blackened earth beneath.

The acrid, smoky heaviness lingers;
Soot settles at my feet
While fire-ravaged skeletons of trees,
Stand like soldiers, stark against the sky,
Rooted strong in infantry lines
While the earth licks its' wounds
Beneath this Super Bloom
And the dandelion seed floats by, barely seen,
It's journey charted by a simple breeze.
Imagine the possibilities
When it plants itself
For sweet dandelion, and me.

2021 K. Orian. All rights reserved.

On November 9th of 2018 we lost our home in the Woolsey Wildfires. Fire is unforgiving. I hope none of you out there ever have to experience the devastation. I found myself so numb and lost, that it was often difficult to write. Dandelion was written in about 2 hours. My family and I had been displaced, moving 7 times in the 12 months after the fires. We lost our home and community, having to relocate to another town over the canyon from where we had lived for 30 some-odd years. In the Spring, flowers that had lain dormant for years, caressed the hillsides. The smell of green grass mingled with all the other heady floral scents; a 'Superbloom' had taken hold where only months before the earth had been scorched raw. I was so, so angry; deeply, physically angry that Mother Nature so easily covered the hillside with such beauty, while so many of us continued to be in mourning. It was as if she was mocking my loss. I wrote Dandelion in anger. Everything felt hopeless. It was only when the last few lines poured forth that I realized your spirit doesn't let you give up. Despite the devastation, there was still a sense of hope and possibility.

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