As I drove home alone from Salt Lake last night, I rounded the bend to find darkness rising from the Stansbury mountains. The air was thick with smoke, even from so far a distance.
The first line of the following poem popped into my head, so I grabbed notebook and pen and jotted my thoughts down as I drove. I wouldn't recommend doing that, by the way, it's definitely not safe, but I had to grab the inspiration when it struck.
The poem is as of yet untitled, so if anyone has any ideas, feel free to leave them in the comments trail.
The mountain's on fire again.
Smoke smears the valley
like brimstone remnants from Satan's pit.
Three times now it's caught aflame,
thrice in a single season,
as if Hades' rose from the depths of earth
to settle on her slope.
It's eerie how the orange glow
only shows itself in the darkness,
and during daylight hours the purple stain
of smoke dirties pristine skies.
The acrid stench of ash and char
poisons air perfumed
with summer flowers and alfalfa fields,
until a single breath feels dirty.
The glorious sunset turns an angry red,
filtered through the smokey clouds -
My sunset gone awry
as the mountain burns.
Quote of the Day: "Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go." - E. L. Doctorow