Match Sticks

The limousines are burning, little sister.
See smoke rise against skyscraper,
Dulling shiny black metal and tinted glass.

Flames rise from underneath
Maws shaped from the Earth's
Once living bones.
Once, these gleaming, fishlike cars
Were alive,
Before they were spat from
Factories, that was not a birth, but a death,
Carved out of soil and mountains,
Cut from the flesh of beasts crowded into
Windowless, grating buildings.


Fire is contagious, little one,
Having ignited my imagination,
I hope that soon
They will collapse into dust.

Introspective Observation: buds on dead growth

It is strange to know that we're having fifty, almost sixty degree days in February. This month started out new-born in a blanket of white, but yesterday we played kickball with some friends at the old stone church, and I didn't need an actual coat until about 9:30 or 10:00 at night. I've heard tell that the cherry blossoms are blooming in Japan, and my dad's cousin's wife's flowers are already coming up in her yard up North. 

We've been about two months ahead of ourselves all year, in previous years too. Remember that June we had multiple wild fires all over my state? Utaha two months ahead and all that. Photographs of haunting sunsets and towering columns of grey smoke, white clouds of smoke boiling over our Eastern mountains. That Summer felt ominous and apocalyptic. But here we are now, roughly two years later, experiencing an early spring that feels like late fall in the winter. It's certainly something to think about, dear. 

The changes this world is going through --ecologically, politically and socially-- should be interesting to observe, and perhaps, to participate in. There's a lot of hope and beauty amongst the pain and corruption, growing in spite of or because of the things that seem so terribly wrong. 

And so it begins...