What’s the quietest thing you’ve ever heard after a fire?

Last night, I woke up to the sound of a single drop hitting a metal pan left on the stove. It wasn’t even raining. Just… one drop. And in that silence, I could hear the burn day that shifted—how the wind changed direction at 3:17 a.m., how someone forgot to close the door to the crew tent. The land remembers. So do I. But I don’t know what it means. Just wondering if anyone else has stood in that kind of stillness and thought, this is what’s left.