The Sanctuary. The Canary Creeper. The Body.

Crackles and sizzles buzz through the air.

There is a forest that has been burning for as long as anyone can remember.

Smoke so thick it can suffocate any alveoli.

The fire does not rage; it smoulders beneath the roots, patient – too patient.

The trees, like those of ancient times, have learned to grow around the fire. Their barks are blackened, their leaves singed at the edges, but they still stand. They have no choice. This is the only forest they can rejoice in.

At the heart of this forest is the body. It is a clearing hidden by branches that bend inward, protecting what grows within. And what grows within is the Canary Creeper. Not a rare thing. A resilient semi-succulent, scrambling up shrubbery planted by hands that knew of the fire and chose to plant anyway. Its leaves are fleshy and light green, shaped like ivy. Bright yellow and aromatic, its flowers bloom even in late summer when the fire is at its hottest. It does not ask permission to grow. It simply does. 

The soil is ash. 

The water is scarce. 

But still, it grows.

The clearing is surrounded by fire.

The fire does not consume; it judges, and says, "They are too much. They do not belong here. They should shrink and disappear." 

The Canary Creeper does not listen.

It has been said that its love is a deviation. That its existence should be in question. That survival is enough. That hope is for those who can afford it.

But the Canary Creeper knows a different truth.

It is not the fire that surrounds it. It is the sanctuary. The fire may be the world that cannot hold its beauty, the refusal to see it as it is. But the Canary Creeper is not consumed. It endures. Not because it is invincible. Because it is rooted. Because it has learned to grow in ash.

There is a body in the forest. It is on fire, but the fire is not consuming it. It is emanating from it. The body is the sanctuary. The body is the clearing. And what grows from this body – from this sanctuary, this clearing – is the Canary Creeper. Inside the body,  a fire burns. Small at first but necessary.

Unconditional. 

Eternal. 

Unstoppable. 

Beaulah.

The Canary Creeper is still growing. And as it grows, it opens a door. Others step through. They become part of the we. When we see the Canary Creeper, we do not see a single flower. We see a cascade. A community. A network of roots and branches holding each other up – a Southern African wisteria. It is not fragile. It is resilient. It has survived drought, storms, and neglect, choosing to bloom anyway.

The Canary Creeper is not a garden plant. It is a declaration: We will not be pruned into submission. We are here. We have always been here.

The forest will still burn. 

The clearing will still stand. 

The Canary Creeper will still climb toward the light.

And the fire has and never will be the end. It is only the beginning ...