Breathing again.

In a year already branded with uncertainty, wildfire is one more reminder that absolutely nothing is really within my control.

Last night I sat on the porch at midnight, dazzled by the most magnificent lightning storm and sucking in deep gulps of fresh, clean air.

Two weeks of breathing toxic smoke into your lungs and gazing at dirty skies can mess with your head. In a year already branded with uncertainty, wildfire is one more reminder that absolutely nothing is really within my control.

My family was away, but the cat and I sat enthralled as great, cleansing sheets of rain pounded the earth and lightning lit up the sky. We drank in the scent and the sound and the wonder and the hope.

I was reluctant to step away, but once back inside, I began to find my words.

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Embers glowing,

Wind starts blowing,

Swiftly now a fire is growing.

Flames that swallow

Hill and hollow,

Forests now, but towns will follow.

Houses burning,

Stomachs churning,

Nothing is secure, we’re learning.

Friends uniting,

Brave men fighting,

Flames race on, the world igniting.

Wind stops blowing,

Smoke now growing,

Flame and ash the sky yellowing.

Folks are packing,

Voices cracking,

Closing windows, coughing, hacking,

Gloom is staying,

People praying.

Lungs are heavy, nerves are fraying.

Then a spatter,

pitter patter.

Will it be enough to matter?

It comes splashing,

Lightning flashing,

Thunder rolling, rumbling, crashing.

Pouring, drenching,

Wildfire quenching,

Rain pours out its liquid blessing.

Bats are whirling,

Crickets chirping,

Next to me the cat is purring.

Earth, so needy,

Savors sweetly,

Laughs aloud and breathes in deeply.