The air is still not right.

Grass on the hills peak out slowly, then boom. 

Or should I say, bloom?

Fire renews.

Heavy rains uncover.

Crispy foundation, a ghost of a house lost.

Still, the scent of fire sends me into a nervous frenzy.

Smoke and embers make me nauseous.

Memories of driving into the chaos to rescue animals.

Picking up friends whose homes they will never see again.

Spending hours, days even, sorting through donations.

But the hills are green.

The fire is out.

A man named Thomas will never hurt us again.

One thought on “Ventura

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *