The Great Fires
Close your eyes, and through their lids see the light of the amber moon.
By Lark HanshanPublished 12 months ago • 1 min read
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Photo by Matt Howard on Unsplash
Close your eyes, and through their lids see the light of the amber moon.
A veil of smoke has drawn across the province and settled into your home.
Puff the steam from your nose, hoof the ground and prepare, there is nowhere to run but ahead. There is no turning back to the larch where the does have dropped young, and you just may become the last heir.
Flames lick at the woods, at the moss, at your river.
The creatures cry out for relief and for death.
All fall before the great fires.
Run, buck.
Run.
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About the Creator
Lark Hanshan
A quiet West Coast observer. Writing a sentence onto a blank page and letting what comes next do what it must.
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