Phoenix

Little chickadee— flittering about darkened clouds. 

Her firelit eyes scour scorched leaves and broken boughs— 

Their ardent flame looking for something salvageable. 

Most has become ash, excepting a few patches of moss.

But perhaps that is all she needs to rebuild.

Gentle, mending moss— the subtle reminder that it will all be ok.

Hope and home borne again 

from things that keep her warm.