Black ghosts at attention, slender and straight

Waiting silently in the chilly air.

At their feet, scorched seeds, their children

Pausing before suddenly being born

To life, to mortality.

Created by electric white light

The fire came quickly, crackling, yellow and orange.

Noisy, it roared across the ridges and up into the snow-capped mountains

Pushed by the wind - animated by the brown dried-out fuel of the forest

Striking down and across into the dehydrated spruce trees

Who watched and waited so patiently for the green growth

Denied them by the permafrost.

Like desperate hands

Their roots plunge deep and wide

Searching for moisture and sustenance.

Black ghosts at attention

Do not despair

Your time will come again.

During the long, pale-yellow days of an Alaskan summer

Evolving so quickly into black, icy nights

Where northern lights frolic overhead

Heralding the passage of Alaskan eons.