I haven’t been writing much this summer. Between the smoke and other problems, I’ve been distracted from the writing desk. The Caldor fire is started to be contained and evacuation orders are being lifted. The air quality here is better, but still not so good – at least the yard doesn’t smell like a campfire. Below is a poem I’ve been working on for sometime. It’s still raw, but if you can think of any improvements for it, let me know in the comments.
Mowing the Lawn in the Desert Virginia Range looming over the garden shed. Morning perfume of pine and dirt mixed with a touch of damp. Memories of camping among the lodgepole pines with the music of crystal clear water over rock. Quiet voices and the gentle creak of bear lockers echo off the peaks as we made our way to the restrooms Smell of bacon rising above the wisps of vapor from the small cook stove. The orange light of dawn pushing up from the dip between the peaks casts a weak light over the shed and lawn. An electric mower. A click as the battery slides home. Children climbing rocks and jumping in rivers is replaced by the gentle hum of blades cutting grass. The Shangri-la of the camp fire and marshmallows replaced by the smell of chlorophyll from a manicured lawn.