Footprints In The Black

 

Through the black I walk
Sharpened shovel in my hand
The wind so slight drifts through
This very different land

The smell of freshly blackened ash
Is strong and all around
A silent shroud surrounds me
As I scan the blackened ground

I wander yet with purpose
Waiting for that sign
Then pause ever so often
As I head away from the line

Suddenly it is near me
That unmistakable smell
I stop and breathe in deeply
That thing I know so well

I think of those before me
Of time I won't get back
I turn and look behind me
At footprints in the black


Author: - Paul Fazekas
Sioux Lookout Fire #48
July/1/2003


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