Smoke signals from miles away
strong scent of campfire everywhere.
Hazy overcast heavy air
unhealthy to breathe.
Pine trees.
Flammable Roman candles
lit by something, someone,
deliberate, accidental,
an act of miscalculated stupidity
mixed with drought and wind,
and conifers alight
leap from one to another
a mishap-pen ring of fire
atop a foothills birthday cake
and the old sayings,
We all fall down
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Dare they build again
in the enchanted forest?
Lured by the dream of living wild
an authentic life in the woods,
nature out the back door.
But remember fire makes nature stronger,
cracks open pine cones
that wouldn’t germinate
without that lick of flame
awakening them.
Animals scatter to lower ground,
reassess instinct
into strategy,
unlike humans,
who rebuild
over and
over.
—
Diane Funston has been published in journals including California Quarterly, F(r)iction, Still Points, and Lake Affect Magazine, among others. She lives in the agricultural Sacramento Valley of California with her husband and three rescue dogs. She replaced her lawn with a sustainable urban farm. Diane was Poet-in-Residence for Yuba-Sutter Arts for two years. She is the author of Over The Falls (Foothills Publishing, 2022).
