Wednesday, November 23, 2016


It's starting to make sense. 

"Where there's smoke there's fire." 

Every day is a battle to feed and grow the forest of my life and friends.  Remove the excess dead standing and fallen trees.  Keep the accessible paths open and discourage people from tramping on the parts of me that need to remain wild and pristine. 

I'm a forest ranger conservationist. 

Then I see it.  Smoke. 

I'm not a good fireman.  I'm a conservationist.  I try to call it in.  But for me, the response time is never good enough.  So I find the nearest tool and try to build a firebreak.  A controlled burn, a Bulldozer, Napalm.  I'm not a fireman.  I just try to keep the fire away from the one thing I can't do without.  My kids.  My wife.  I can give up everything else in this world but I can't let the fire consume that too.  But I'm not a fireman.

Usually, I don't get so much destroyed that I can't rebuild.  But sometimes.  Damn it.  I hate it too.  So there I stand in the wasteland between what I hold dear and what I'm trying to build and trying to find a swathe of green that I somehow missed.  An olive tree that bent but didn't break.  Maybe the creatures will come back.  I can only find what's left and start planting again.  Maybe the new pathway will go here and we'll let the old one overgrow.

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