I remember the smoke
above the horizon,
spreading out until dusk
swallowed it whole.
People stared across
the plain, tested the wind,
wondered which way
the fire would turn.
But I was transfixed
by something invisible
attending to our sorrows.
* This poem is based upon a memory of a prairie fire near Littleton, Colorado when I was three years old. It is one of my earliest memories.
the storm is fierce,
but mountains know
not to resist.
** Photo: Mount Bierstadt, August 5, 2017
My wife and I love the mountains. Leaving here in a few days will be difficult, but I have plenty of pictures and memories to jump start my writing when we get home.
The road is worn by years
of heavy wear, and I breathe
the familiar scent of trees,
brush, and wild flowers mixed
with slow decay. But then
it was there, around a turn,
and startled my mid-day trance:
three small stones stacked
upon a stump, still wet
from their home in the creek.
You were nowhere in sight.
New trails mean new chances to be surprised by the wonder of the outdoors. This is a view from the Burning Bear trail in Parker County, CO.
Hello, Colorado. It’s been a year, but you still amaze. No need to write poetry when it first stands before you.
Awaiting the Images 