Fire on the Mountain

Perhaps its because neither of these posts come with photos, but today I feel struck with the urge to drop two poems on you. The first was about my night ride through the mountains, and like its predecessor, this one is all in the title: a fire on the mountain. This one in particular saddens me for not capturing, but the fire struck as the evening was coming on, high up in the mountains, and I was caught in my car, in the seat opposite it, far and away from the actual site of the flames. What few shots I did get were marred by the glass and the swirl of the smoke.

Even so, I composed a poem of it, as it still struck me, even from a distance. Fire. Destruction. Beauty. We often focus on the destructive power of fire, but like any other element of our world, there is an unrivaled sense of beauty to it. We fear it, but it is only natural. It may herald destruction, but it is also a forerunner to creation, a key part of the cycle of death and rebirth.

Fire on the Mountain

Black skies loom over the valley—

There’s a fire on the mountain

Like a lighthouse in the night

And the smoke is rising,

Lightning sparks the hills

And only then

The houses in the trees.

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