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EAGLE CREEK FIRE
You can always hear it coming before it arrives,
and you hope for a train, but the horn never comes.
After that, all I saw was fire.
In the sky, in that blur
you catch in the corner of your eye. Fire
bounded over Nch'i-Wana,
evaded the watery mirror, and
looked down at the Bridge of the Gods as it
caught a ride on that wild northbound wind.
Years later, I find myself fearing change--
a human flaw--
and I trace the scars the fire left on the mountains.
I imagine that with light enough fingers, in my mind's eye,
I can find beauty again.
Or remember green over every mountain the fire touched.
An underdeveloped human caused this damage.
The forest will never look the same again in my lifetime.
I rest my head on an ancient cedar and ask
is it my place to forgive?
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