Fern (A Year of Writing Prompts)

It was the only thing left.  Ashes covered the once lush, green landscape making it look like an apocalyptic nightmare.  The wind had died down to a soft breeze, blowing the gray-black matter softly in the wind.  Dirty snow-like flakes floated in the early morning light as the sun appeared beyond the mountain range.  All this devastation yet here it was, stretching upward, reaching toward the warmth.  How it survived, no one could imagine considering the heat of the fires.  The wind that fueled the flames was now that gentle breeze.  No green for miles.  Except.  Except the delicate leaf with its curly ends looking like exquisite lace on a ball gown made for a princess.  Tiny holes in each long-fingered leaf gave it texture so if you touched it, you expected to feel bumps.  But it was smooth to the touch.  And soft with tiny fur covering the light green surface.  Trying to straighten the leaves was like fighting to straighten a curl in someone’s hair.  The coil, pulled to its limit, bounces right back every single time.  And so, this survivor keeps its beauty.  It keeps its life.  Despite the heartache and loss, this is Mother Earth’s promise of rebirth.