Skeletons. Reminders. Fire is not natural here, not a part of the rhythm of life, not a force this landscape has tools to handle. Sparks were stoked by careless people. Wind, the ever present element in Patagonia, fanned the flamas, sent them raging across the landscape and high up the mountain slopes. I appreciate the beauty in the destruction; the song of the wind through the dead branches, the bare bones bleached in the sun. But what beauty am I missing if these forests were full?
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