A Touch of Life

Written for a prompt: Digitalis They are a type of flower that grows often in ground that has been disturbed or where plant life has been burned away.

Samara made her way carefully to the middle of the medow, breathing n the air.  It lay bitter sweet on her tongue and she swallowed to rid herself of the taste, but it only landed like a stone in her stomach.  All around her trees that once stood tall and proud were now little more than charred skeletons grasping from the blackened earth.  Where there was once clover and sweet grass, all Samara could now she was the ravages of a man made fire. A fire that had burned out of control.

She knelt beside what was once a gigantic redwood the charred splinters biting into her fingers.  It was still hot, nearly singeing her palm, but she didn’t let go.  The near pain soaked into her skin and bones, fanning her anger.

“Don’t, my love.  Don’t let anger breed anger,” The voice of her grandmother, soft and steady as a stream, washed over Samara, dampening her ire some.

Samara’s fists clenched, “Everything is gone.”  Long fingers, gnarled from age, curled around her shoulder.

“Nothing is gone forever, my child.”

“Look!”  Samara snarled, whirling fiery eyes to her grandmother.  “There is nothing more here!”

But the ire washed over her grandmother like it was nothing and she smiled softly.  “Come with me, young one.”  She took Samara’s hand in her own, the soft warm touch squelching the woman’s ire into mere ambers.  The two walked down to the sluggish river, the once clear blue waters now ran gray with ash and run off from higher up in the mountains.  Samara’s attention was drawn to the mountains and she could make out the jagged fireline that cut between the surviving forest and the ravaged trees.  “Look here, Samara.”  Samara followed her grandmother’s attention and her eyes widened to see small, purple flowers peeking through the ash and rubble.  They were small, but the vivid purple bell shaped petals and thin green stem stuck out from the drab surroundings.

Samara knelt down, ignoring the ash and mud that soaked into her knees and she brushed the downy soft petals with a finger.

“Nothing is gone forever, my love.  Even in the aftermath of great tragedy life will find a way to continue.  Just as these foxgloves have found a way.”

Samara looked around again, this time able to make out the flowers peeking through, sparse but visible spots of white, purple, gray, and yellow.  As she studied the flowers movement caught her eye off to the left and she turned to see a doe and two of her fauns emerging from the tree line, sniffing around.  High above the cry of a hawk called out.

“Life returns no matter what, Samara.  No matter how totally one thinks death holds the world, life will always find a way to come back.”