We saw as expected
blossom heads with gaping
mouths receive many
diligent bees
into themselves
in the ancient choreography
of pollination.
Nearby was the charred
ground of a prescribed burn
where embers may still
await a future blaze.
Pine trees stood
as stark exclamation points
beside the pockmarked,
winding rural road,
that buckled under the
heavy harvest machinery.
And barefoot farm kids
dragged themselves
to the one-room school,
set back in a mown field,
as gusts of furnace-hot
wind turned August into
a breeding ground for
uncontrolled wildfires,
and the children watched
deer race out from
the sparking woods.
Artwork by: Hermann Ottomar Herzog
