The ribbon of smoke stretched for miles.
Thousands of miles, eastward, towards
the lakes, all five of them, as the air choked
on itself, in search of water.
The sun is gone…a hazard sign warning us
Don’t go outside! Don’t look up! This summer sky,
jaundiced and bruised…seeking refuge from
the flames of the great park
Clouds, the color of drought, blanket
these northern Superior woods.
With a stifling aroma of quarantine, Heaven
is cursed with fever.
Yellowstone is dying. Its charred earth
is now my neighbor, by way of wind.
A lion of a firestorm rages, rejuvenates while
Mother Nature looks down on us.
Personal note: Publishing this on the web pretty much scares the beejeebees out of me. I wrote this almost 3 years in a creative writing class. If you like it, please say so. If you don’t, well…lie about it and write a nice comment anyway. My self-esteem is at risk here, people.