Prompt 19 for Inktober is scorched.
“For two or three moons the sun had been gathering strength till it seemed to breathe a breath of fire on the earth. All the grass had long been scorched brown, and the sands felt like live coals to the feet. Evergreen trees wore a dusty coat of brown. The birds were silenced in the forests, and the world lay panting under the live, vibrating heat.“
-Man And The Natural World, by Chinua Achebe
Could any other words make you envision scorched more vividly? Almost make you feel the hot dryness? Not many.
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed, that with the sun’s love in the spring becomes the rose
The Rose, Bette Midler
Life is a cycle of death and rebirth. Without one there can not be the other. Deep thoughts for a Friday.