There she is, burn to the touch, a being of fire. Her hair burns bright with swirling flames, swaying past you, blinding you with her smile. For every drop of rain that comes down with her fears she stacks another log of hope or dreams in her heart. She's like the daughter of the storm, which cracks down through the forest and hits the tree, barring she who flows through the forest, a wildfire burning joy into the hearts of all she passes. Her essence burns bright; her soul stands amongst the forces of nature. The winds blow and the raindrops fall hard and harder than before but yet the fire remains, and as I touch the fire it gets cold and burns the flesh it cracks and peels but still she walks. She walks through the fire, she calls through the smoke, she walks through the fire. Is she to help? Or just to lie still? Either way no one knows she will.For Summer Sartel
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