last night, no candle burning
no smoke added the the orange air, in the dark
in the back field, cries or screams
never heard before, lost animals calling family,
this morning, no sunrise, no clouds, no background sky
the sense of distance a fog of ash
ash of trees, crops, villages, homes,
homes of rabbits, deer, racoon, bear, coyote, squirrel, birds
a dense fog of ash through slow rotation
blanketing this side of this hill, so
there is no beyond
already there is that one scrawny squirrel,
the last one moving about before darkness last night,
now perched on a grey fence post, surveyor of all this
otherwise perceived stillness
through the skeletons of the almost leafless Maples and Ash,
over the carpet of tangled branches and wind torn leaves,
i don my goggles and face mask, advance into this stillness
turn on the sprinkler to quench the thirst
of dried out plants and roots
and fill the fountain for the birds and squirrels
and anything else needing a bit of water, before
i sit back down by the kitchen window
birds are flying in from all directions
perching in the Maples and Ash, resting on the fence posts,
cautiously stepping to the perimeter of the swirling sprinkler head,
the scrawny squirrel has brought a friend, checking for food under the leaves and playing tag up and down the tree trunks,
and for awhile this morning
everyone has a drink as we wait
out this orange sky stillness
for the possibility of coming wind and rain.
