a day that is rich with symbolism, both ancient and modern. Easter, as we observe it, is a complicated and strained marriage of pre-historic pagan celebrations and Christian mysticism at its most deep and poignant. The common theme winding its way through all the stories, of course, is one of the spiraling cycles of death and resurrection, and the belief in the eternal nature of the soul.
Fire is often associated with sacred and seasonal celebrations - a wild and barely contained force of nature as in the ancient bonfires, or a carefully controlled servant in ceremonies in the form of candles and fuming censors inside the hallowed walls of churches and temples. Fire is seen as a purifying agent, a powerful elemental agent of release, destruction and new growth. In some cultures, burning is a way to send prayers or spirits to the sacred realms.
We witnessed the primeval power of fire firsthand this week on our twenty acre haven of woods and fields. It's been unseasonably warm and dry here, and that day there was a strong wind from the southeast, setting the stage for a potential disaster.
Looking back, I recite a list of "things I am grateful for" like a mantra, to protect me from thinking about the list of haunting "what ifs":
We were home, we smelled and saw smoke as it was carried fast and furiously on the wild wind.
Our horse lives down the road "a piece", so she was safe.
It wasn't the dark of night.
Or the dead of winter.
Our neighbors came to investigate on atvs, with shovels and water.
The volunteer firefighters came fast, worked fast and worked smart.
The flames were put out before spreading to any homes, barns or pastures.
And there were no dead bodies, human or animal.
The fire spread alarmingly fast, but was contained and subdued in a matter of hours. The fire's path of charred trees and blackened ground originated in what we consider the 'heart' of our woods, a vortex marked by a huge flattened boulder that is a resting place during rambles, and the offering place for treasures found along those journeys - feathers and fragments of bird eggs, gnarled twigs or wildflower blossoms, delicate bones or fallen nests.
The sense of violation is potent, the evidence of interlopers was clear - someone was burning something in an old bullet-pocked metal bowl on top of the heart-boulder. My intuition is that it was an accident, probably just kids. I can't even consider that the fire was intentionally set. I'd like to think that a lovesick teenager, sensing the inherent sacredness of this spot, came to burn love notes in the quiet embrace of the surrounding pine trees...
admittedly, I am a hopeless romantic.
The next day dawned sooty grey, and got darker as the morning progressed, culminating in a lovely soaking rain. The burned woods, cleansed. In between outbursts of birdsong, you can almost hear new green shoots pushing their way up through the ashes.
(Spring is bitter/sweet).
Postscript:
It seems 'Spring is Ironic' in a cosmic sort of way as well... a tattered Mourning Cloak butterfly was the only sign of life I saw today, three days after the fire, as I walked the untouched margins of the woods. In fact, its presence was impossible to miss, as it buzzed me repeatedly and so closely that I could hear the rush of its beating wings.
What a scary experience! Am so happy that you are all safe.
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