Dear Curiosity Journal,
A hazy smoke hangs in the air as we harvest. I stare into the distant sky feeling uneasy, a little queasy, and progressively lethargic. I think about the fire, the cause, the effect, the ripple, and the deep interconnectedness. The smell takes me back to wildfire summers in Fairbanks, Alaska and the fearsome feeling that creeps in from the incandescent horizon when embers fall close to home. I wonder what we’re breathing in and what is falling down. I get choked up. I grieve for the burning wilderness, fleeing animals, and lost trees. I sense into a kinship with a land on fire and discern an unfettered outcry. On a busy harvest day, I pause for a moment of silence, for all that is burning away. I hold a funeral in the chamber of my throbbing heart, and then must hurry on.