This week in Southern California, there are strong winds and wildfires, not a good combination. They inspired today's headline poem.
Sharp and sweet and hot,
destined to meet.
They move quickly.
They spin around.
They unravel.
They pick up speed.
Fingers bleed from mistaken steps.
Wind and wildfires are a
deadly combination.
Often, there's no end
in sight.
It takes an intervention.
It takes a hose
of gold
to tighten up the reins.
Wind and wildfires
are out of control.
They're messy and aggressive and selfish and
Before you know it,
turn you to dust.
To dust.
But when they stop, and things are calmer than they've ever been,
you see the damage,
and you assess
what's been lost,
and what's worth salvaging.
You take a walk.
You feel a spark.
You're not sure it's safe.
It's never safe,
so just in case,
You cross your fingers behind your back and beg
(this time) that it lasts.
You wonder if you have it in you to rebuild.
It might be easier to start anew.
After both die down,
you'll still be afraid
to light a candle,
for fear of burning up,
but you must (you tell yourself).
For if you live in fear of wildfires and wind, you'll never truly live.
