3/12/26

My time in Florida was marked by smoke, heat, and long days beneath an open sky. We moved with fire across the land, tending it not as destroyers, but as stewards, returning to the earth an old and necessary rhythm. There was something solemn in it all, the glow of flame through the pines, the blackened ground left clean behind us, and the quiet sense that we were taking part in work much older than ourselves. I left tired, smoked through, and grateful, carrying with me the smell of ash, the company of good people, and the feeling that I had, for a little while, stepped into something honest and enduring.