Season of Fire

Another tremendous fire is raging through my homeland, burning homes and singeing nerves still raw from last summer. This time, the sacred, secret place of fairy dreams and folk festivals is the scene of the crime. So many people liken Black Forest to The Black Forest... the ancestral homeland of Western wizardry and magical thinking.

The people who chose to live in this place are an unusual bunch. Many are introverted, prefering to surround themselves with the protective whispers of tall, dark trees and insulate themselves from so much modern convenience. They live with animals and make their own soap. Children easily believe that Hansel and Gretel live just over the hill. Magic is one step closer in this forest.

I will not pretend to understand why this is happening, nor can I rationalize this nightmare as it quickly changes.

Every day I see the scars left from last year's blaze. When I joke that we bought our home because of the view, which no one could ever take from us, I'm reminded that it was taken from us. The view we see is no longer rolling green hills but black, patchy bald spots with legions of skeletons propped up in the wind. It will take years to regrow, and it will never look the same to me.

It saddens me to think that this could be the experience of my friends in the forest, human and otherwise. The protective layer of magic is blowing north at 45 miles per hour.

The forest will regrow in time. Mother Earth will move on and forget these spirits. If matter cannot truly be made or destroyed, then I suppose the magic hasn't left the forest. It is the forest that has left the magic.

Perhaps this is the message for us? To take sacred spaces with us, to be the magic for one another.

To remember what it felt like and become the forest of the future, nurturing those gentle spirits between us.