Wind is Fire

At first, the wind is warm, a faint smell of burn in the air,

Before you see it, there is a sting in the eyes and a tickle in the throat,

It grows hotter, the visibility drops to grey,

The embers fly, little at first, illuminating, and igniting the

Leaf litter on the forest floor,

The carried embers grow bigger and faster,

The wind a furnace now, until it stops pushing air at all,

The wind is fire,

Consuming everything, consuming you

Not to char, but to fine powdery ash that is blown and scattered

Until there is nothing left.