Forest on Fire

The annual forest fire burns.
It turns summer leaf to flame
licking up green branches,
till gold alone remains.
Sleeving brown limbs in brilliance,
This blaze brings an aching chill.
Crimson flickers, amber flames,
Emerald faces the seasonal surrender,
cringing at the touch of consuming color,
and gives in to a golden falling.



Sky is a vast banner subtly screaming: nothing here is static. Placid perwinkle may be stroked grey and splashed purple while your back is turned, and you’ve learned that the gentlest sky may not be trusted to keep the washline dry. And though it greets you like a dazzling ocean, in a moment’s motion it has washed itself in clashing hues of flamingo feathers and forget-me-nots, fading into the orange of a melting creamsicle. You walk on under the everpresent banner and somehow do not see it becoming shadow, a mass of odsidian black, faintly blushing blue. It sprouts stars, and while you are yet unaware pastels dance across a scene barely sunlit. The drama repeats in a million mutations, your backdrop, and while you wish that nothing would ever change, even simple sky cannot remain the same.