Mama, what is the earth if there is no green left?

banana slugs crawl out from inside of a
centuries-old fire-scarred redwood tree trunk
she is erect

in these fire cavities, where fires rose once before,
echoes of thundering crashes can be heard through the valley
where large branches fell once upon a time

the ancient trees whisper:
we are survivors

the forest is not gone
it stands tall and it regrows

the dead feed the forest floor and become nurse logs
they provide protection to thriving plants and critters

they decay
nutrients from the perished are returned to the earth

do not let yourself be consumed by the enormity of the fire

like a steady pulse, change will always interrupt life
change is intrinsic
embrace it as a device and find a way to thrive

only let a part of you be exposed when the fire hits
shelter the best parts of yourself

be prepared

it’s the dormant buds
those protected underground
where the nutrients stored that will regrow

you are the bud I promise to protect

we will create deep and extensive root systems
we will give back
and my child, there will always be green on this earth.