Bonfire In A Wet Woodland

I trudged softened steps,

Onto pillowy growths,

And spongey squelching moss,

When I came to a sight,

Shying behind a tree,

Leaving my sense at a loss.

There was someone,

Wet from sweat, rain, or tears,

Standing by feeding a fire,

With sheaves and photographs,

Doling out these treats,

Fattening this woodland pyre.

It seemed rude to leave,

Risking them seeing me,

Giving myself away,

So I quietly watched,

As the flames slithered,

Hiss, coil, and sway.

The photos curled,

The pages burned,

The damp held the embers down,

Low to the muck,

And weedy stems,

Beneath its smoky crown.

It was a time,

Before they left,

Satisfied by glowing ash,

Not long before,

I retreated myself,

As it began to lash.

How strange I thought,

But not for long,

As I later recall,

What memories you’d need,

Against your will,

To wish to burn them all.

#HI