Fire
The thick, oppressive smoke blacked out the fall sun...
The smell of my great grandmother's old woodstove
suddenly came to mind...
Flames licked the night sky from the mountainside...
And to my horror, I resigned...
After the fire has devoured all the old trees, and has flickered out of sight...
The barren, ashy face of the hillside will greet me each day and every night...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2016
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