It’s Our Fire
By Kelsey Jensen
Oregon City, OR
The leaves slowly begin to die as the bitter cold wind nips at them and at my nose. As the leaves’ color progresses into a red-yellowish sight, the trees seem to freeze and shiver from fall’s harsh declining degrees. From my little blue room window I see the sadness falling from the trees. The death of their spring blankets is enough to make any one species cry for them in sorrow. If only the process wasn’t so beautiful.
From my little room of all shades of blue, I look outside and all I can see is fire. I need to be closer to the window so that I am able to look down onto the ground, for it towers over the soft dirt and frozen grass. Closer now, I look down and the fire has engulfed my entire back yard.
I don’t yell for help. I don’t try to stop the spread of it. In fact, I encourage it to travel, to move fiercely throughout my neighborhood, taking over everyone’s back yards. This fire came from the death of the trees’ dying blanket of green. That death was all from fall’s cold, biting, punching blows of winds. Now the only way we can warm up is from the fire all around us. Come springtime we’ll get tired of the fire, and that’s when the May rains pour down.
