As I biked through Westwood in the morning

With the breeze full of ash gusting in my face

I reach the melancholy evecuation center

Which made a graveyard look cheerful

Many families' and pets' faces full of sorrow and loss

Of hopes, dreams, and life savings

Whether mansion, apartment, or shack

Still a loss of a home

As reporters repeatedly run from person to person

Trying to score an interview

Their lifeless faces stay as still as statues

And from the corner of my eye

I spot one of my friends

Face buried in hands

I ride away

Thinking that this time, time would not heal all wounds