Not all that burns is bad, rising from its own ashes to be reborn, the Pine Barren waiting for flame to help them procreate, the heat of passion all we need, this is a rage, people sometimes forget, the rub of sticks that sets us on fire, never too cool even when we settle into embers, reading to explode again at the least provocation, a slumbering holocaust that might not reignite a forest fire, but one that sweeps again through lives with unexpected even unintended fury. You need to find solace in the flames, like an old fashioned shaman who reads the future in the ruins of the past, able to predict when the rain will come, when the fire might finally and permnently be put to rest
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