The Witching Hours

Source

Sunburnt sun

Streaked with

Gray and pink....
Wisp to wild.
Grasping, consuming.

Billows of ashes and dust

Swirl upward—

A gift to fires

Of all fires.

Witch Creek,

Cedar Creek,
Mount Palomar,
Esperanza: 

Burn to the ocean

Or stop at the crest?

Waiting for an end.

Impassive walls, lying and
Fiery tongues lick cold
 

Gusts transport feathery remains

of homes and trees

To rest, layer upon layer,

White and Gray.

Green life, now absent, 

Becomes moonscape

In moments, in hours.

All from

A sunburnt sun.


Fire at its witching hour