Wizards set fire to the trees and stand watching in awe of it’s raging power. The chaos is maddening and the fire is not something I’d find interest in watching. It’s the wizards I find interest in. Cooped up for days these visions flicker through my head begging to be added to a story, into a sentence, maybe into my life. Grasping it all can be such a burden. The meadow is where I desire to be and what would life be without desire? And who will give these visions life? These visions so vivid they taste of desire. If only I could write for them what they feed me. Alas, everything but writing has a hold of me. Still the flames lick and the wizards set fire to forests in some mystical way while I procrastinate the day away. So many worlds turn to ash so many trees left unnamed without a voice and wizards left with no legacy. It is a shame I don’t care enough to truly capture these things. It really is.