west kelowna.

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I want to write a poem using a wildfire as a metaphor,

describing a love so strong it burns,

or a fiery passion of vigorous reds and oranges,

maybe a sunset behind blue mountains.

But there are times when a fire is more a noun than a metaphor.

When it associates itself with destruction and insurmountable despair.

The fear that pools in people's bones,

and the danger zones.

A living, breathing inferno,

whose cataclysmic sparks reign chaos on our community.


When chaos strikes,

a mind can only understand so much.

You see the flames,

taste the smoke,

feel the staggering burden of devastation.

But you don't see the frantic movements,

taste the panic,

or feel the hearts that are cleaved in two,

unless you were on that list or heard the knock on your door.


Some stare in awe,

while empathy and devastation bleed in their hearts.

Others sleep in cots with tears and wonder,

acting as the only stars in their universe:

a fathomless pit of darkness,

with sparks that fuel the everlasting questions,

and the grief suspended in conjunction with the smoke.


Fear.

Sadness.

Grief.

Uncertainty.

Chaos.


But there is beauty in chaos,

in the negative emotions.

An orange glow that attracts hundreds,

and documents each passing second.

A wind-driven firestorm with the power,

to devour a home, a forest, a habitat.

You marvel at the power of nature,

but despise its natural abilities.

Never forget we're not alone on this planet.

Nature is a force to be reckoned with,

one we must respect.

Because not only does it regenerate,

but it also ties us together.


When the smoke lifts and the ashes settle,

the grief will come in waves.

We'll mourn the loss of familiarity,

but remember the heroes who saved us.

Remember the donations and the support,

the voice of a fire chief who restored hope every day.

Cry because we lost trees and hikes and trails and more,

but remember we fought the war.


Courage.

Happiness.

Hope.

Certainty.

Tranquility.

Together.


After the ashes are buried beneath the snow,

and when winter snowflakes kiss their last goodbye,

Rose Valley petals will bloom.

Birds will chirp from charred branches,

while the crickets below chirp as the grasses grow.

Wind will whisper through the trees,

and the sun will shine again.

McDougall, Carrot, Rose Valley and Blue Grouse.

We'll rebuild the houses and landscape the yards,

while nature mends its broken bones.

And although the scars will be visible,

we will refuse to remain invisible.

West Kelowna will rejuvenate itself,

built from the strength we call our community. 

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