I wandered into a slope
Littered with fallen pines
And festooned with new growth.
Wind and flame,
years of rain,
and scorched cone seeds
Rooted in thin soil,
A carpet of green
Not knowing when their cycle ends
In wind and flame
And another begins.
I wandered into a slope
Littered with fallen pines
And festooned with new growth.
Wind and flame,
years of rain,
and scorched cone seeds
Rooted in thin soil,
A carpet of green
Not knowing when their cycle ends
In wind and flame
And another begins.
A Seattle-based journalist and editor with decades of experience.
A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.
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