The fire is finally out. Israel is burying its dead and beginning the hard work of rebuilding, both physically and emotionally, that comes with the day after.
After days glued to the television, the internet, the radio, Facebook, Twitter, anything and everything, I finally feel able to again turn to photography for solace, looking for beauty to replace the horrors seared into my consciousness.
I turned to the same simple flower that brought comfort to me once before and let it wash over me and fill my inner eye with yellows that were not flames, reds that don't burn. I'm one of the lucky ones. I don't live on the Carmel, a place that just a few days ago was one of the greenest, loveliest, most magical places in the country. A place I visited just a few weeks ago to drink in it's soothing green mountains and crisp clean air. A place where many families still make olive oil the way they have for untold generations. Today that village is bearing the hurt of an unspeakable burden, today those hills are blackened and dead, the gravesite of 42 souls lost to the flames, countless homes burned, and 5 million trees lost.
Someday though, the hills will begin to live again, and bring joy, tempered with sad remembrance, to all those who see them.
For now, there is this. This small piece of beauty. May it put a smile on the face of those who see it and wipe away a little of the horror of the past days.