Even hope can be found in the raging fires.

Olivia Nunez , Special Contributor

As I continued to walk, tears started rolling down my face. The ground was black, burnt up, and crisp crunched like a fallen leaf in Fall. 

This was once a lush meadow covered in a thin blanket of gorgeous flowers; a place where the birds sang, and the animals played.

“My beautiful oasis is gone,” I sobbed as I fell to the ground. My hands holding my head as brokenness ate away at my heart. 

The fire marshal said that someone had lit a firework into my field, and the rest was history. 

“Who could do this to me?” I whispered to myself. 

As I cried, my eyes were filled with a dark blue, a blue like the ocean with a dark tint that was as dark as the char that surrounds it. I crawled over, wiping my tears away as an object captivated my attention. I hovered over it, gently blowing air to make the ash fly up and away into the sky. With the ash gone, a beautiful, radiant flower bloomed, intoxicating colors painted its petals; I couldn’t believe that everything on my land had burnt down, except for this flower.

“Mom, what did you find?” My daughter asked as she walked through the charred grass to get to me.

“It is hope, honey,” I said as I embraced her. 

The next time I visited the flower, I made sure I had the right tools to make sure I could take this miracle to a better place: a place where it can grow and die, and plant new seeds for the whole meadow. I pushed my trowel into the ground, making sure there was enough space for the roots. When I took the flower, I couldn’t help, but feel at peace with everything. 

I will get my oasis back.