It was the celebration of

Summer,

The Strawberry Moon.

 

A full moon to bring in the

innocence gone wild

and to call in

the dances of the animals from

their slumber of restlessness.

 

Instead, the sky was screened in

a translucent cloth of

smoke,

making the

Moon red.

 

Cries soared the air as

homes dissipated to ashes,

covering the nearby towns.

 

Plumes of all shapes rose,

wanting to escape

the heat of an angry bird

that once was called legend.

 

The fire flew to one town

then

to a forest

eating what was not offered.

 

Ashes mimicked flakes of snow

dancing, floating in the wind,

instead of melting,

it was a crude reminder:

The Phoenix lives

when we make mistakes

to not care for Mother.

 

A reminder that it will turn

the moon red

with our guilt.