The air was parched and very dry,
smoke descended in the sky.
A fiery glow reflected the reason,
Trees were singed, before their season.
Gushing blue water, once rigid and cold,
hurled over boulders, trees and more.
The force was apparent, nothing left standing,
except the lone warrior, her spear extending.
Safety greets me, down in this cave,
I'll wait 'til morning and see.
Arlie Pierson © 2004