It’s black early yet,
few lanterns glowing
across the quiet canyon,
drought-killed Blue Oaks:
roots simmering
in the rock-hard ground.
The wind will turn
the burnt to gray
until the rains
bring a fresh green
start—nothing
we can change.
It’s black early yet,
few lanterns glowing
across the quiet canyon,
drought-killed Blue Oaks:
roots simmering
in the rock-hard ground.
The wind will turn
the burnt to gray
until the rains
bring a fresh green
start—nothing
we can change.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2019, Ranch Journal
Tagged "Creek Fire", CalFire, photography, poetry
It could have been several thousand acres of fences and feed. Robbin, Bob and I thank the entire CalFire crew for their professionalism, the pilots for their impressive air support, the dozer operators cutting breaks and blading existing tracks in the dark for what seemed to be well-over a dozen 4×4 engines, the water tenders and the often-overlooked hand crews with boots that still remain on our otherwise inaccessible ground. It was impressive. Thank you all!