21 August 2018
The Caboose on Catherine

The fires are finally about 85% contained. These last two years have been a virtual hell of fire and brimstone. Just terrible smoke and flames and frightening realities of "pack the hope chest with photographs, art, poetry and be ready to grab the cat. I wish I lived in a cool damp place like Scotland and don't tell me I would hate the cold: I love the cold weather  so much more than this horrible destruction. I wandered here as a teen and just never left except for a few trips to Paris, Italy, Mexico, the Canadian Shield...Now I'm content to stay at home, especially in Winter when the birds come home and stay through the Spring and summer. It seems only in Autumn do they take off for climates that aren't relentless with rainy storms. It's mild enough that not all the birds fly south for the warmth down there. Down there being Mexico.

Cold mornings reflect a summer sun,
a shiny red ball of flames
and starry girls dancing in dresses of fire;
how is it that we can never loosen
our hold on the fear of summer sparks
that consume acres of trees,
skeletal bodies of deer, rabbits, small birds
lying in the shadow of that last tall Douglas Fir.
We are brave and then, we are not brave.
We just don't know how long it will last each year
and we relinquish our idea of control
as we bow our faces into the ashes
and pray for rain.