I’ve watched a fire sweep through a forest, and every time the flames lick the trunks, I notice the tiny green buds that cling to bark, waiting for the ash to loosen the soil. It’s a brutal reminder that destruction can be a prelude to renewal, like a rough remix that somehow ends up sounding right. The paradox sits in the same spark that melts everything also lights the seedlings. It’s both a threat and a promise, and that tension is what keeps me up at night, half‑afraid of the blaze, half‑glad it’s there to start the next cycle.