Flickering embers crackle into the starry night above.

Between the trees, they flutter in unison with the rustling of the leaves and the chattering of crickets.

Who would have thought the words written on those papers burned with a fiery passion dwarfing the flames they just fueled?

Flakes of parchment rise beyond the canopies of green, and then settle delicately upon the soil as if to feed their lively sprawls.

Torched letters chilled to brittle ash lie in contrast to the sturdy trunks they once composed but now surround.

And like all things are writ and burned and willed again: they simply return to nurturing a mound.