Sad seeing my valley get burnt, lately (t-3d, t] . Thousands of Bambi films at making, though a majority with not the same happy ending. Like the hares and snakes and porcupines in the burrows. Or the newly-hatched on the low-hanging tree branches and myriad thickets that populate the environs of mine. Out to watch the Lyrids, I, instead, watched the forests burn. The pine needles out here are akin to gunpowder, very rapid to catch fire from the littlest spark. That littlest would be shred somewhere deep in the abandonous outdoors, away from any espy, and then, the rest is history, one that also turns several lives into history. Our greatest sins go unknown, so goes for these fires, from their origin to the supportive acts/actors. In our abstract mind, the tiny bobbly fire-figures at a distance look innocuous, same ones which make senses turn violently against our psyche when seen as 10-ft giants up-close.
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