she revels in her power.
Seeing her, some are awestruck, some terrified; few can look away, spellbound.
Her light and warmth she has no interest in containing.
Subtle messages long forsaken, she can only roar.
Not in turmoil, she is turmoil itself,
collapsing in a smoldering heap here, exploding in a startling burst there.
Efforts to extinguish her towering energy are met with a hiss and recoil,
then another surge,
grasping, greedy now,
for more air, more space,
forgetting if she seeks to create or destroy.
It is a decluttering of her soul and the only thing now is the need to keep going,
at once consuming and voiding,
blossoming and blistering,
knowing somewhere at her core
this isn’t sustainable,
the edges will not hold,
the inevitability of cessation matched only by the mystery of origin.
But for the moment,
ash rains, sparks dance in a savage ballet, life shudders.
All is entropy.
The wildfire burns.