The Fire burned through here
Though it was a couple of months ago
Still one can see the blackened tree trunks
And smell the musty scent of ashes
Since then, yellow leaves scatter the ground
Singed oak leaves cupped and crunchy
And behind the leaves, Sun shines through
Orange, and rusty brown
With glints of white, the Sycamore tree trunks
Who somehow survived the blackening
How can that be?
Some trees missed the burn and stand out green
Defiant, of the lack of cool color.

I rest in the shade.