Red and Gray

The hills are on fire.
The valleys and the mountains and the fields are burning.

And nobody asks what we did to cause this.
And nobody stops to ask what in us is on fire.

On some days the smoke drifts and covers the sun.
And the sun turns red like the fire is red
and the ashes rain down as a charcoal snow
and the people walking are stained by the sun
wearing white masks, drifting down streets
on bicycles.

Suddenly the earth is an alien terrain.
Suddenly we are all aliens on a hostile planet.

First, the wilderness dried out
because there was something missing from ourselves
as we went about our daily routines without moisture.

Then, the wildness of our hills leapt into flame
surrendering to the madness of firestorm
to the constant pressure of ignition from the sun.

Now, we are a city of ash
all uniting under a common skin of remnants.

Wilderness brought to our surface streets.

Grey billowing from the fires in our minds.