Colors and Warnings

There is fire near me once again. The flames are on the other side of the hill I live at the base of by a creek. I felt them in my dreams all night. The air I breath is rough in my throat. It is scratchy and dry, like the feeling after crying too long, only more so. The road I drove home on Sunday from a wonderful day at the beach is closed now because it is burning.

This morning when I opened the curtains I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I saw that the sky is still blue here, the light is only coming from the sun, and the faces of my beloved ones have smiles. The trees outside are moving their sap towards the day and the tiny birds of the morning are singing. It is so wonderful to see and know all of these things.

I sit surrounded by the small quantity of things we packed last night in case we needed to leave and I write poems in acknowledgement of the power of Wildfire and weave a call for protection within their lines.


like a stain

on a sweaty T-shirt

Brings dry eyes

and a scratching throat



like caked clay

on the heel of my shoe

wipes away the blue

of the sky at noon


No big deal

It’s only a color

The sun is a disk of gold



like aging hair

left unwashed too long

brings s tight chest

and painful breath



like the dirt

at the edge of the road

brings ashes falling

black and white


No problem

we can just stay indoors

The sun is an orange parade



like the smoking midnight

in a dangerous dream

brings masks

if you’re lucky



rushing and filling

the space above

brings “get out now!”

and hope you drive fast


It’s OK

Give thanks we are safe

The sun is an eye of blood



like the terrible dream

that gave birth to black

Red is hungry

it won’t give it back



with brothers of orange

we hope not to meet you

Not tonight or tomorrow

because if we do



Eyes closed

The sun hides from your glare


You have


and a place here with the Land


Be full

Leave us

Go in peace, returning to Home

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