Rainclouds waltz beneath the lightening that illuminates the sky.
Thunder resonates through the land.
The trees sway in the wind.
Their tough appearance is demolished on this cold night.
They seem as if they will snap at any moment.
The wind seems too strong.
There are no birds out, tonight.
The foxes have went back into their dens.
The rain floods the dirt.
The water finds a place in every crevice.
Drowning the life that once lived.
Washing away the existence of anything that can not hide.
The wind picks up speed.
The trees are no match.
The sound of bark splitting echoes across the field.
The flash of lightening illuminates the entire sky.
The lightening strikes a tree and causes a fire.
The fire seems to have its own consciousness.
Eating up the land.
Filling its belly with everything that stands it its way.
Demolishing everything that breathes.
The trees that are left standing have no chance.
If the wind didn't kill them, the fire will.
At the end of the night, nothing is left.
Just a black stain covering the scar left on the ground.
Just the bodies of the trees that once stood.
The remnants of the life that once lived.
The rain is gone, and the fire subsided, but the land will never be the same.
The trees will never grow back, and the grass can not heal.
The birds will find their place somewhere else, and the foxes will come out of their dens.
But the land will never forget.
The scar can never be removed.